For the Sake of Art
by TrebleMaker
Summary: After losing a patient due to a bizarre twist of fate, House is kidnapped for his assailant's own sick pleasure and his "art". hurt!House. hurt!Wilson. HUDDY! Set sometime late S2/early S3.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Dr. House or any of the other characters that appear on the show. I _do_ however own this plot. Also, any illnesses/diseases that appear in this fanfic (no matter how bizarre) do actually exist. If you don't believe me, google them.

**[H] [H] [H]**

"20 year old, Caucasian female. Presenting with heart palpitations, hallucinations, stomach pain and confusion aaaaaand go," said Dr. Gregory House as he walked through the door to his office and threw a blue patient file onto the long table at which his team was currently sitting and limped his way over to the whiteboard with his handy dry erase marker already uncapped.

Putting down the morning paper, Foreman was the first to respond, "Cancer. Probably a tumor in the brain because of the effects on the heart."

"But it wouldn't explain the stomach pain as well," interjected Cameron without getting a chance to supply her theory before Chase cut in.

"It would explain the stomach pain if the tumor were in the stomach, putting pressure on an artery leading into the heart," replied Chase, "but infection is far more likely in this case. Probably leaked to the spinal fluid at this point and caused encephalitis."

House turned abruptly and venomously spoke.

"Oooooo, so close, _except_ CT Scan's were clean ruling out tumors or lesions and all blood cultures show no elevated white blood count or any other trace of infection. Keep playing," he spoke while he paced, trying to physically keep up with the speed and agility of his mental thought.

"What about an allergy? Or better yet a congenital heart defect that could be-" intejected Cameron once again, getting more animated with each word, thinking she had stumbled upon the answer.

"No family history of heart disease," cut-off Foreman as he scanned through the patient's file, "in fact, there's not much of anything listed in her charts except for a mild pollen allergy and seeing as its winter…"

"Its not worth looking into, got it," ended Chase, subconsciously rubbing his jaw line with his thumb to help him think.

A dull thud echoed throughout the room as House, having finally resigned himself to sitting, lazily bounced his cane against the ground and watched it absent mindedly.

The room fell into an uneasy and abnormal silence.

"C'mon, Dr. Aussie, Dr. Hood and….well, the blond," grumbled House, trying not to lose momentum, "think!"

"Environmental," said Cameron finally, "Where was she when she first suffered these symptoms?"

"Rome, actually," replied House with a condescending air building in his tone, "Nice to see that pretty little head of yours has a brain after all."

Cameron rolled her eyes as she processed a new piece of the puzzle.

"I take it that was the most recent attack?" pried Chase, knowing the game of omission House often liked to play with his team.

"And 10 points to Dr. Down-under, leaving Dr. Hood the only one who has yet to make it on the board!" continued House, apparently in an even more surly mood than usual today.

"She's had at least one episode every month for the past 8 months," chimed in Foreman, sliding the file across the table to his colleagues, "and I'm not playing your stupid game, House. This girl has been here for days, presented none of her alleged symptoms since she's been here and I'm hard pressed to believe that she didn't have some kind of bad reaction to some pot or something. She is an art student..."

Doing his best impression of Alex Trebek, House retorted, "That is correct, however, you forgot to put that in the form of a question. So sorry."

"What about panic attacks?" asked Cameron, finally, "Panic attacks would explain the stomach pain, heart arrhythmia and any confusion she may have experienced."

"And they would be brought on by any narcotics in her system at the time," agreed Chase, feeling confident a conclusion had been made at last.

Three sets of eyes turned to watch the caustic diagnostician as he grabbed the patient's file and skimmed through her information one more time.

"What could you possibly be looking for now?" asked Chase, thoroughly frustrated having found their only logical answer.

"The missing thread that you all failed to see," said House, triumphantly standing and walking through the door of his office. Chase, Cameron and Foreman took one glance at each other and promptly trailed after him at a brisk pace.

When the loyal followers arrived at Sophie LaCarte's room, they awestruck horror as her heart monitor beeped at an alarming rate and she began babbling through her gasping breaths. House merely stood his ground holding her Art History book open to Standhal's painting of concentric circles.

"The stars! They're falling to the earth and burning the room! Why won't you stop them?!" she screamed, beginning to pull her hair and behaving in a visibly upset manner. Her boyfriend, a deep russet skinned man with long dreadlocks did everything he could to keep the young woman in her bed, all the while glaring at the doctor that only stood there and held a book open to torture the woman he cared for.

"You're ruining her love for art! Close the damn book!" he yelled at House as he struggled to restrain his girlfriend.

Suddenly, and without any warning, she promptly went limp and fainted.

"House," began Cameron, emotionally shaken by this young girl's reaction.

"She has hyperkulturemia," said House, with a knowing glimmer in his eye as he casually shut the art book and limped forward to return it to the young man's hands. "She is literally panic stricken by the art that she loves so much."

A stunned silence fell over the room.

"You mean to tell me that my girlfriend, an art major at Princeton, is having panic attacks by looking at art?" asked the young man now standing by his girlfriend's bedside.

"Yup," was all House said as he turned and walked through the sliding glass door and headed back towards his office. Foreman pursued him, doubtlessly after some better explanation that he could relay to the concerned man at Sophie's bedside.

"Wow, I don't even know what to-" began Chase, glued to the spot, before Sophie's heart monitor began to beep erratically. Both doctors turned to the noise with a bit of confusion.

"We need a crash cart in here!" called Cameron as both her and Chase ran over to the young woman's side and pushed her boyfriend away from the bed.

"We've got V-tach over a panic attack?" asked Chase with disbelief.

He never noticed the bright flashes that intermittently illuminated the small room as Eric, Sophie's boyfriend began snapping candid shots of Cameron and Chase as they grabbed for gadgets, syringes and chemicals that would undoubtedly stabilize his girlfriend. He only heard the sliding door open and close (as nurses simultaneously rushed a crash cart into Sophie's room and escorted the photographer out) and he only saw a trail of crimson as it began to leak from Sophie's right ear.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House sat at his desk, holding a significantly emptier bottle of his favorite pain pills in one hand and the MRI scan of Sophie's head hours before they lost her.

Apparently Sophie's episode a few days ago resulted in her cracking her head against the marble floors of the art museum she had been in, but no one had deemed that necessary to share during the original consult. Even as House scanned the MRI over and over again with his own eyes, the shadow was practically invisible. However, if he hadn't dismissed it as a past injury, he would've known that it was a slow leak increasing pressure within Sophie's skull.

She had died from days of no one noticing the tiniest of brain hemorrhages.

House sighed, feeling the familiar numbness of his extra Vicodin boost slowly taking him away from the reality that he so desperately wanted to escape today. He had cleared the board and won his jackpot, but lost it all in Final Jeopardy.

House stood slowly, willing the ever present ache in his leg to disappear completely like it never did despite the amount of Vicodin he put into his system. He sighed and used the end of his cane to retrieve his scarf and jacket from the nearby coatwrack. He took his time as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and tugged on his jacket, still lost somewhere within a fantasy that involved correctly diagnosing Sophie's brain trauma and saving her life. However, House's desire to further impede reality with a good bottle of whiskey soon made him start towards the elevator and out to the hospital lobby.

As he left the building, his mind raced with different scenarios where he had noticed the shadow on Sophie's MRI. Although he would never outwardly admit it, House did care for his patients. Sure, he preferred the puzzle that they presented and he absolutely loved the satisfaction he felt once he knew his diagnosis was correct, but the guilt he felt over losing a patient was never easy on him. Only the physical pain in his leg and the Vicodin really helped him cope.

"She didn't have to die," he muttered aloud to no one in particular as he walked to his car.

"I know that, you son of a bitch," replied a voice.

With a sickening crack, House received a sharp blow to the back of the head, fell to the icy sidewalk and saw no more.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Well! This is my first crack at a House fanfic, so please bear with me if it takes a little while to get rolling. In any case, I hope you enjoy and I hope to see you next chapter. Please don't forget to R&R!

xoTrebleMaker


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House or any other characters from the show. I only own this plot.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy sipped her coffee as she pushed papers around her desk, looking for an invoice she had meant to file away last night. Her office was still filled with an early morning chill (despite the clock reading 10am) and her patience for the day was already wearing thin.

She looked up as she heard her office door click open and closed.

"Good morning, Wilson," she said without looking up. Had it been later in the day, Cuddy would've fired off some kind of defensive statement knowing that House had come to somehow argue his way into one ludicrous procedure or another.

"Morning, Cuddy," replied Wilson. He sat cautiously on the sofa near Cuddy's desk, trying not to spill the hot tea he had just purchased. A faint aroma of sugar followed him as he held a glazed donut in his other hand.

Cuddy, having finally found and put away the invoice she had been hunting down for nearly an hour, looked up at Wilson, scrutinizing him before speaking, "Do you think House would prefer a patient that believes he's growing out of control at the age of 76 or a patient that more than likely has Cancer, but has a great body?"

Wilson abruptly stopped chewing his first bite of donut and stared at Cuddy, trying to decipher whether or not she was serious. Her gaze never wavered from his face and he choked down the laughter that was threatening to spill out of his mouth as he swallowed his first bit of breakfast.

"Cuddy, you know as well as I do that he'd prefer anything that wears a bra and has a nice ass," replied Wilson keeping a straight face.

"I _really_ want to find a drag queen one of these days just to piss him off," replied Cuddy as she set aside the blue patient file of an elderly man believing he was growing out of control for House to diagnose.

Wilson softly chuckled at her while continuing to enjoy his breakfast. He quietly thought to himself that it would indeed be fun to hire a drag queen just to see House's livid expression.

**[H] [H] [H]**

"Mr. and Mrs. Klein," began Wilson, "we got the lab results back on your son's blood cultures and unfortunately…"

Wilson and the Kleins looked at the door in shock as Cuddy barged into his office. Her eyes were both livid and concerned as she quickly apologized for interrupting what was, based on the colorless faces and shocked expressions, a very difficult time during their consult and pulled Wilson outside.

"Have you seen House today?" she asked as Wilson pulled his office door shut.

"You interrupted my consult with the parents of a child with leukemia to ask about House?" shot back Wilson incredulously.

Cuddy looked through the large glass pane and into Wilson's office. Tears freely flowed down a young woman's cheeks and her husband was doing his best to console her while holding himself together. Cuddy had delivered plenty of bad news to patients during her career, but to have to do this on a daily basis would break her heart. She would never understand how someone as kind as Wilson could do this day in and day out.

"How old?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the parents.

"…What?" Wilson asked confused at the subject change.

"How old is their child?"

"He'll be turning 7 in 2 weeks. We caught it in time, Cuddy. He'll survive," said Wilson understanding. He smiled weakly, reassuring his colleague in a way that he knew would be much more difficult to do with the young boy's parents.

Cuddy returned his weak smile and began to walk away. About halfway down the hall, she stopped and turned to Wilson who was taking a moment to compose himself before he had to break the news to his patient's parents.

"Wilson, when you're done in there," she said in a purely professional tone, "can you please come down to my office?"

The oncologist nodded and returned to his office to get back to work.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Humming. A faint, high pitched hum filled his ears and was the only thing he could concentrate on. His eyes glowed with the faint red color of someone who tries to nap in the sun in the summer without sunglasses on. He knew almost immediately that he had a severe concussion, but he couldn't remember exactly what had happened.

He tried to assess his situation without moving or opening his eyes. His head was painful and throbbed with each pulse that coursed through his body. He remembered a case. It involved panic attacks and artwork, didn't it?

He groaned and slowly began to open his eyes. The white walls that greeted him immediately made him regret his actions and he shut his eyes tight and placed a hand over them as well. He could still hear the noise of a camera shutter somewhere nearby, even despite the ringing in his ears.

"You finally awake, murderer?" a voice asked.

House registered the voice in his mind, but couldn't exactly place it. He ventured to open his eyes once again, this time prepared for the searing pain that the bright light would induce. He grunted slightly and took a look at his surroundings.

Although everything was a bit blurry, House could tell he was not in his apartment, Cuddy's, Wilson's or anywhere remotely familiar to him. He was, however, in a studio apartment somewhere (he hoped) still in the state of New Jersey. The undecorated white walls and simple shabby futon positioned across from a small television indicated someone with little money -- possible a college student or recent graduate. House inwardly smirked as he closed his eyes again. Despite the trauma to his brain, he still had his wits. Everything would be okay.

"Did you hear me, you bastard?" asked the voice again.

House once again opened his eyes just in time to be greeted with several camera flashes. He forced himself to sit up and fought through the woozy feelings that it caused. He knew now that he was awake, he had to stay that way for at least 24 hours or he risked not waking up again.

"Hear what? You calling me a bastard?" asked House with a hint of disdain, "Right. Like you're the first one to call me that."

The photographer kept the camera to his face and House noted a soft glow about him (no doubt caused by the blow to the head) that made it hard to distinguish anything more than the deep color of his skin. House raised a hand to the back of his head and winced when he brushed the spot he had been hit. He brought his hand in front of his face and was relieved to see there was no blood. At least he didn't have to worry about blood loss or infection.

"I was referring to the murderer part," replied the photographer, continuing to snap photos that disoriented House with his light sensitivity.

"Bastard, ass, jerk," listed House, "are things that I am, but murderer is pushing it."

"Yea? Then what about Sophie?"

"What about who now?" asked House. The name rang a bell somewhere in his head and the harder he fought to track the memory, the more his head started to throb.

"Sophie, the girl you killed yesterday," continued the photographer who had momentarily turned around to reload his camera.

House blinked at him and took in the long dreadlocks and the memories of the previous day flooded back.

"You're the boyfriend," he said, comprehension dawning on him.

The disgruntled man laughed darkly before he replied, "Not anymore. You took care of that for me."

House couldn't believe what he was hearing. The young man before him seriously blamed House for the death of his girlfriend. House looked around him, noticing the ringing in his ears and blurry vision was diminishing as his anxiety level and therefore adrenaline level rose. House forced himself to his feet, ignoring the protest of his bad leg, and stood firmly in an attempt to seem much stronger than he was feeling.

"So let me guess. You watched me slip out in the parking lot of the hospital and felt the need to help me by _not_ taking me back inside where I needed to be."

"No, I assaulted you in the parking lot with my tripod and brought you to my apartment so I can make you feel the pain you caused me."

House gulped at the finality in his voice. He knew that tone of voice. It was one he had learned to use around his patients so they would learn to disconnect from him. It was a voice he had learned to keep his emotions in check and he knew that with that tone of voice came inner anguish and pain.

"Right, well, I think the blow to the head proved your point," said House, starting to limp as best he could towards the door he saw in the distance, "I'll just be leaving then."

"I wouldn't take another step forward if I were you," said the young man, who was now behind House.

House hesitated, trying not to stumble as his leg throbbed in protest to his abrupt halt. He needed to get out of here before things got out of hand and as he turned to face the young man that had brought him here, he knew things were quickly getting out of hand.

"You kids these days and you're irrationality," said House now staring down a gun in the hands of an enraged man.

House quickly put his hands up and subconsciously pulled his head back as the man before him refused to back down.

"Slowly, get away from the door and sit," said the man not removing his eyes from House, "Right there."

House looked at the spot the man had pointed and noted almost immediately the fabric hanging from the wall that hid the juncture of the wall and floor and began to hobble towards it. If he had his cane, he would have refused to put his back to the man wielding the gun, but without his now AWOL support, he couldn't move in any direction other than forward. The throbbing sensation in his head began to build once more and House clenched his jaw to keep from groaning.

House stood upon the white fabric on the ground and managed to speak as sarcastically as he could.

"Do you want me to start posing so we can get this stupid little photo shoot of yours over with?"

A gunshot rang out and House's mouth dropped open in shock and searing pain. He felt his knees giving out. As he hit the floor, he looked at his left shoulder, now beginning to drip with his own blood.

"You….You…." stammered House, painfully pressing his hand against the bullet wound to stave off the bleeding. He could feel his hand tingling and he forced himself to look at the positioning of the bullet wound. He groaned a bit but was thankful to see that it was a safe distance from his heart.

"I what? Shot you?" asked the photographer calmly, picking up his camera as if nothing were out of place and began snapping pictures of the wounded dianostician.

Within moments, the adrenaline of his sudden injury wore off and all of House's pain crashed in upon him at once. White noise rushed to his ears as his blood pressure sky rocketed from the intensity of his discomfort and his vision began to take on a smokey appearance. He bent forward letting out a yell so full of pain that it was pitiful. He didn't notice the photographer taking pictures for his own sick pleasure. He didn't notice much of anything other than his shoulder, head and leg screaming in protest.

It was only as the cheerful tune of "Mmmbop" began to ring throughout the room that House took in a ragged breath, not realizing he had been holding it after yelling. His forehead glistened with a thin layer of sweat and he gasped for air to fight against the pain. He could feel the vibration in his pocket and he could hear the faint shaking of his Vicodin as his phone rattled against the bottle. House made a desperate grab for his phone as the photographer lunged at the injured man. A struggled ensued, one that House feared he was going to lose.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: I know, a cliffy. Sorry, but I had to do it. Please R&R!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House. If I did, neither of us would ever leave my room ever again. ...but seriously, I don't own House or any of the other characters, just this plot and some psycho I managed to concoct to make the story work...

**[H] [H] [H]**

Wilson leaned against Cuddy's desk and listened to the phone ringing on his end. It was officially 1pm and House still wasn't anywhere near PPTH. Sure, his best friend was notorious for sleeping in and showing up late, but this was a new level of late and it worried him.

The oncologist glanced down at his wrist watch and sighed seeing the minute hand reaching 10 past 1. He sighed and put the phone back on the receiver. Cuddy watched him with nervous eyes.

"He's not answering at home, right?" she asked him.

"No, he's not. That's not unusual though. What _is_ unusual is that his answering machine didn't catch the call. That means there are too many messages, meaning everyone's been looking for him…"

Cuddy glanced up at her clock above her office door just as Foreman entered.

"Still no House?" queried the new arrival.

"No, still no House. Have you tried to call him?" asked Wilson starting to worry.

"Yea, we all did. We all left him messages figuring he was at home. We didn't try his cell though," said Foreman as he shifted his stance, "We figured he'd be irritated enough at our constant calling that he'd get back to us on his own."

Wilson nodded understanding the train of thought as he looked at Cuddy. Of course, Wilson knew Cuddy still harbored feelings for House, as much as she tried to deny it. It wasn't like everyone around PPTH couldn't see the tension (or cut it with a knife for that matter). He was surprised that she somehow still managed to keep her feelings hidden behind her administrative mask. He knew she was a wreck.

"Cuddy, Wilson, mind if I get a quick consult?" asked Foreman, sensing the awkward tension in the room and holding up the file brought to House's office earlier that day.

"Of course," replied Cuddy, putting the whole House situation to the back of her mind, "What's got you stumped?"

Foreman chuckled a bit, "Well, the case you gave us is just all sorts of strange. Percy is 76 and the only symptom he is complaining about right now is a severe headache. We've diagnosed the headache as a migraine, but…"

"But what?" Wilson asked, starting to get the feeling that something absolutely bizarre was about to tumble out of Foreman's mouth.

"Well, he was admitted today believing that he was growing out of control. Everything around him looked like it was getting smaller and smaller."

"So," assessed Cuddy, "He's hallucinating that he's a giant in an average world?"

"Well," started Foreman, "he was. Now he's convinced that everything around him is too large and that he's in fact shrinking."

All three doctor's were puzzled by the bizarre symptoms, yet somehow they all knew House would've figured this out as soon as he heard anything beyond the migraine.

"Now, before you start thinking we haven't done anything," stated Foreman calmly, "We ran blood cultures and have tested him for pretty much everything. We've got him in an MRI as we speak. Obviously, we've got to take a look at what's going on inside his head."

Cuddy nodded before she spoke, "I'm pretty sure that's the first place you all should've looked, but I'm glad you're making progress."

Foreman nodded, thanked both Cuddy and Wilson and walked out of Cuddy's office to get back to the team. He wanted to know if they had discovered anything unusual in the MRI…or if the MRI had gotten pushed back yet again for another emergency.

Cuddy looked at her remaining employee, trying desperately not to seem too concerned about the whereabouts of her Head of Diagnostics. She knew she had feelings for him, but she wanted to maintain a professional appearance; dating an employee did not fall under that category.

"Cell phone?" asked Wilson, knowing Cuddy wanted to find House.

"Yea," she said barely louder than a whisper.

Wilson took his phone out of his pocket and hit the number 5 on the keypad followed by the call button. It was mere seconds later that he heard his phone ringing and he silently prayed that House would pick up.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House grabbed his phone out of his pants pocket, inadvertently dropping his pills in the process. He heard the bottle drop to the ground and roll away, but his need to get out of his predicament outweighed his need for a quick high.

He flipped his phone open with his right hand just as Eric, his crazed assailant, tackled him and tried to wrestle the phone away from the doctor. House let out a yell as the strain of holding off his attacker with his left hand put a tense strain on his shoulder, causing the wound to ooze a mixture of blood and puss. He shoved his legs under his attacker in an attempt to put more space between them, even if it did make his right leg throb painfully.

"Wilson! Listen, I've been kidnapped and shot. You've got to-" House started until Eric decided House had said too much.

There was a popping noise and House groaned and rolled to his side; his assailant rose to his feet and looked about wildly for the phone that had skidded somewhere across the floor.

House's jaw was now throbbing thanks to a rather well placed right hook. He closed his eyes and hoped that the popping noise had originated from a bone in his assailant's hand; instead, House let out a pitiful moan as he attempted to open his mouth. The loud pop was definitely from his jaw. Now he couldn't even call for help.

Eric stood over House, shaking his hand which throbbed terribly. His knuckles were already beginning bruise, but he couldn't help but smile at the punch that he had landed on the murderer in his home. If he broke his hand, it was worth putting the miserable bastard through the pain.

**[H] [H] [H]**

The color drained from Wilson's face as he heard House speaking. He had expected a "House Hotline. For sex, please press 1 now." What he received was a cry for help, the sound of struggling and a loud popping noise that Wilson could only guess was a bone breaking.

"House? HOUSE! Where the hell are you?" he shouted into the phone, hearing a skidding noise indicating the phone had been dropped and slid across the floor.

He looked to his left, watching Cuddy who's eyes were wide with terror. He didn't know what to say or do. He knew if House had dropped his phone that talking into it would be pointless, but he didn't want House to think he had abandoned him either.

Based on what House had hurriedly told him, however, he knew that the police needed to step into this case quickly.

"Cuddy," he started trying to control the panic in his voice, "I think you need to call the police…"

Cuddy immediately leapt into action by picking up the phone and dialing the police as quickly as she could. Wilson, on the other hand, froze as a voice on the other end began talking to him in surprisingly calm tones.

**[H] [H] [H]**

"Even if you call the police, they won't find him," said Eric standing over House with his foot on his wounded shoulder to keep him in place. House grunted as he felt a warmth starting to spread from the wound in his shoulder. He knew he was bleeding again and prayed he wouldn't lose too much blood, but knew the odds were starting to stack against him.

He scanned the ground for his Vicodin and saw it an arm's length away. If only he could snag it without Eric noticing. He began to snake his arm towards it, hoping if he moved slowly, it would be imperceptible.

"Are you still there?" asked the photographer looking out his window and admiring his view of Carnegie Lake.

"_Yea, I'm here. What do you mean the police will never be able to find him?"_

House faintly heard Wilson's voice through the ear piece of his phone, but he was more intent on getting his pills back at this point. His arm was almost halfway there.

"By the time I'm done with him, he'll be buried somewhere far, far away," said Eric as he chuckled darkly.

House froze upon hearing this. Sure, he was a surly bastard that didn't believe in the afterlife…or God for that matter…but that didn't mean he was ready to leave this world yet. He had too much to do here including (but not limited to) annoying the hell out of Cuddy.

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's not get to hasty, here. Nobody needs to die, right?"_

"No one needs to die? You mean like my Sophie?" asked Eric starting to get angry again, "Did the bastard have to let her die too?"

House was inches away from retrieving his Vicodin. He could practically feel the pills sticking to his tongue and throat and he swallowed them without water as he was so accustomed to doing. His fingers reached the edge of the bottle, causing it to roll slightly and for the pills inside to rattle.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Eric, his eyes filled with rage once again as he stared at the doctor pinned beneath him to assess the situation. He saw the pills and knew that if he hadn't been so enraged in that moment, he wouldn't have cared; however, he was pissed and wanted to make House as miserable as possible.

House made a desperate grab for his pills, succeeding only momentarily as the crazed man suddenly leaned nearly all of his weight into the heel resting on House's shoulder sending a jolt of pain through his body that caused him to clench his jaw. House immediately unclenched his jaw and moaned loudly. His vision was slowly fading around him and he so desperately wanted to disappear into the pain-free abyss that threatened to swallow him.

"_House? HOUSE! What the hell are you doing to him?!"_

Eric leaned over, never removing his heel from the wound in House's shoulder as he snatched the pill bottle out of the doctor's trembling hands.

"Vicodin, huh?" he asked, reading the label, "Well, Dr. Gregory House, you won't be needing this. I want you to feel your pain."

House closed his eyes in defeat and allowed the darkness threatening to overwhelm him finally take over. Slowly, the pain ebbed, as did his hearing, and he knew that he was blacking out. He only prayed, and at that he laughed inwardly, that he would be found before he woke up…or worse. And with that thought in his mind, House slipped into unconsciousness.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy did her best to ignore the extremely difficult conversation Wilson was having with a deranged madman using House's phone. She was already a nervous wreck, and she knew that listening to the conversation would only make her nerves that much worse.

Her mind was on autopilot as she spoke to the police dispatcher that had answered her call. She vaguely registered that officers were on their way over to talk to her and assess the situation personally. She felt completely numb, however, as she heard the dispatcher say her farewells and hang up. Cuddy could only sit there listening to the dial tone to tune out Wilson's conversation.

Wilson heard the laughter on the other end, but the one thing that worried him the most was that he didn't hear House anymore. It meant that House had blacked out, otherwise there would have been zinger after zinger fired at this man more or less because he could.

"_So, Dr. Gregory House has some kind of injury, huh?"_

"He takes pain medication if that's what you mean," replied Wilson, not really sure of what to say.

"_Not anymore, he doesn't. Not if I can help it."_

"Listen, why do you want to hurt House? It wasn't his fault."

"_It wasn't his fault? It _wasn't_ his fault? Sophie is _dead._ DEAD! Considering House was the one that was supposed to save her, I'm pretty damn sure that its his fault!"_

Wilson held the phone away from his ear as the man on the other end continued to raise his voice. The venom with which he spoke was absolutely horrifying to listen to, but he knew he needed to get something more out of this guy. Something that would give him a clue as to where this psycho was holding his best friend hostage.

"Okay, okay. Let's just take a moment to breathe. I mean, after all, its still a beautiful day outside. You still have your life to live."

"_Ha. Its meaningless without Sophie with me. Now who am I going to take to Carnegie Lake?"_

Wilson swallowed realizing this psycho was starting to open up. If he could get him to admit something important, hope wouldn't be lost.

"Ah, Carnegie Lake. Now _that's_ a beautiful place to be. Too bad its so far from where I live."

"_Yea, well its about a 10 minute walk from me. I don't even--"_

Wilson sucked in a breath. Cuddy had definitely taken notice at this and her eyes bore into his face, trying to read it for any clues as to what was going on. She had heard Wilson trying to get chummy with the man holding House hostage and thought he was nuts. She didn't know Wilson was fishing for clues.

"_Do you think I'm stupid?"_

It wasn't the answer Wilson had hoped to hear. However, something else caught his attention. A background noise that he had not been expecting to hear. Was that…a train?

"No! No, of course not! I just want you to stop hurting my friend!"

"_That was real clever pal. I'm through with this."_

With that, Eric hung up the phone, leaving Wilson hanging out to the memories of the evidence he had given him.

"House is still in Princeton. Somewhere near Carnegie Lake and I..think…I heard a train in the background," he said before he turned to Cuddy.

Both the oncologist and the Dean of Medicine looked at each other for a moment before Cuddy immediately jumped on google and brought up a map of the city they lived in. If they could help cut down the search time for the police, they would have a much better chance of retrieving House before it was too late.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Well, another chapter down and several more to go! I hope you're all enjoying this. If you have any requests as far as plot or suggestions, feel free to send me a PM. I read them, I promise! Please R&R! Thanks!

xoTrebleMaker


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, blah, blah, blah. You get it already. Enjoy!

**[H] [H] [H]**

"So, let me get this straight," said Officer Grady, as he looked at both Cuddy and Wilson, "You guys have already started to figure out where your missing doctor is?"

Wilson nodded seriously and Cuddy merely stared at the officer in an attempt not to let her feelings overwhelm her. She was already dangerously close to her breaking point from the stress of managing the hospital today. With the added worry and anxiety over the man her heart was fond of (though she'd never admit it out loud), Cuddy was just about ready to fall to pieces.

After talking with Wilson, she knew House was seriously in trouble. It had taken all that she had not to break down in front of her friend. If they lost House because of some psychotic madman, she really didn't know what she would do with herself.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Dr. Cuddy, you have a print out of the area you believe Dr. House is currently being held?"

Dr. Cuddy looked at the zoomed in map she had found on google maps. It wasn't exactly the entire town of Princeton, but it did zoom in nicely on Carnegie Lake and she had highlighted the train tracks with a hot pink highlighter to make it easier to pinpoint. She slowly raised her arm, not noticing the way it trembled with her emotional state.

Wilson took notice, however, and as soon as the officer had taken the map and began to look at it, he placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

Within seconds, another figure entered the room, dressed in a white lab coat that was splotched with bits of red.

"We've got a problem," said the Aussie as calmly as possible.

"Is it the patient that thinks he's shrinking?" asked Wilson, noting that Cuddy was focused solely on the officer in the room holding a piece of paper.

Chase looked at Wilson, hoping to spur him into some kind of explanation as he continued, "Yea, he's bleeding from his eyes... Why is there an officer here?"

"Um, well, you know how no one's been able to find House?" asked Wilson tentatively.

"Let me guess," replied Chase, "He's drunk off his ass at some strip joint across town."

At this, Cuddy started a bit, not sure whether she should laugh or cry at the simplicity of such an assumption. It would be just like House to get himself in trouble at a bar or to call for a ride somewhere and pass out. She looked up at Chase, her eyes shining with tears that she refused to shed.

"Oh my God. Its something serious," said Chase uncomfortably taking in Cuddy's features.

"Dr. Wilson, Dr. Cuddy and…" cued the officer glancing at Chase's arrival.

"Um, Dr. Chase."

"Right. Well, based on this map, I'd say it's a fair bet that he can be just about anywhere in the city," replied the officer.

"But I heard the train go by on the phone!" accused Wilson, starting to get frustrated.

They had gone around and around with this guy for nearly 45 minutes and he just didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. As it was, Wilson was ready to run up to House's office, grab the white board in the corner and start listing off clues and places House could be as if he were running a differential.

"Wait, House is legitimately missing?" asked Chase starting to realize the gravity of the situation.

"He's been kidnapped," said Cuddy weakly. It was the first time she had said anything without being asked since Wilson had gotten off the phone.

Chase stood planted to the spot. He was dumbfounded. Sure, House managed to piss people off on a regular basis, therefore earning himself plenty of threats and glares. That was just how everything surrounding him seemed to work, but to have been kidnapped? Now that was just insanity.

Officer Grady looked at Chase and was struck with an idea.

"Dr. Chase, I'm assuming that you work with Dr. House on a regular basis?" asked the cop with enthusiasm.

"Yea, he's my boss, actually," said Chase with a nod. "Why?"

"Well, that would mean you'd be able to call Dr. House's cell phone and we might be able to establish a connection with this psycho," said the cop, not noticing the wince from Cuddy at the word.

"It sounds to me like someone here already tried that and failed," said Chase skeptically.

"Yes, Dr. Wilson called Dr. House's phone, BUT he learned House is near Carnegie Lake and heard a train go by his location as well."

"Alright, but I fail to see how that has anything to do with me," continued Chase warily. He didn't really want to get too wrapped up in this. Not that he didn't want House to get back safely, but any situation involving the police frequently got messier before anything got better.

"Dr. Chase," said the officer, taking a step closer to the doctor, "if you call Dr. House's cell phone again, we might be able to use it to locate him via satellite."

Cuddy and Wilson suddenly stared at Chase, willing him to make the call. Their stares didn't go unnoticed by the young Aussie. All at once, he felt almost compelled to help out. After all, it was the least he could do for Cuddy's sake.

"Alright," he said with a nod once again, "I'll do it. Do you want me to call him now?"

The officer nodded before responding, "Call him and keep whoever answers the phone on for as long as possible. It'll make it easier for the phone company to see in the records if it's a longer call."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Walking. Gliding along empty corridors of PPTH. Everything was spotless, including the nurse's stations which were usually cluttered with papers, charts and specimens ready for testing.

House looked around him, noting a fresh smell permeating his surroundings instead of the usual antiseptic smell. It was all so peaceful, yet so completely out of place.

"Is anyone here?" yelled House, hoping someone would answer.

He was only greeted by the sound of his voice bouncing off the empty walls. It sent shivers down his spine as his brain tried to understand the implications of it all.

"I'll bet Cuddy's still here," he said, before turning around and sprinting down the hall to the elevator.

It was only as the elevator door swished open that House realized he didn't have his cane with him, nor was his leg feeling any pain. He was dumbstruck and could only watch as the doors slid shut in front of him.

"I can't be dead," he mused out loud, "There's no afterlife, therefore there would be no this, right?"

He let his head spin under the strain of his new reality. Maybe there was an afterlife in the end. Maybe he had finally died and this is where he was being forced to spend his eternity. Alone. In the only place he could really call home.

"How evil that I'd consider this home," he said with a smirk.

At that moment, the elevator doors slid open to reveal an empty lobby area. However, on this floor, someone had left the radio on. Granted, it was faint, but House could just make out the phantom sounds of what could only be electric guitars and singing.

"That's odd," he said as he began to trace the sound.

He walked smoothly towards the exit, noting immediately that the music was growing increasingly louder as he did so. He began to slow, not realizing that he was once again limping as he neared the exit, which never seemed to come any closer. His right thigh began to spasm painfully as he tried to reach the door with no luck whatsoever. It was only as he began to really hear what song was playing that his head began to ache and he found his jaw to painfully tight. Everything around him erupted in sound as House saw nothing but white.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House groaned loudly, suddenly comprehending the tune he had been dreaming about had been his phone ringing once more. He slowly registered other noises around him including what could only be a passing train as well as the clattering noise of a camera shutter somewhere in the distance.

His head pulsed painfully and somewhat out of synch with the left side of his jaw. His shoulder was hot beneath his Pink Floyd concert shirt and his dark blue blazer. It was surprisingly numb at this point as well. Unsurprisingly, what remained of his right thigh was spasming, sending the usual aches up to his hip and down to his knee.

It was the wave of nausea that swept over him that caught him off guard. He knew at once that it was the effects of going for so long without any Vicodin. He shuddered with the thought of how much worse it could get as he forced himself to open his eyes.

The room hadn't change much except for the angle of light. The walls now had a dusty red hue; a signal that it was now sunset. He moved his head to the right, following the sound of his phone and was hit with a wave of vertigo. It must've been a combination of his concussion and the withdrawal working against him.

Eric glared down at House, as he pulled the diagnotician's phone out of his pocket. He glanced at it, noting the caller ID.

"Who the hell is 'The Wombat'?" asked Eric with a note of confusion.

House couldn't help himself. He laughed at the irony of Chase calling him at a time like this No doubt, he and the other idiots couldn't figure out what was wrong with another idiot claiming to be seriously ill. He didn't hear Eric approach him until the man's foot met his side with an extreme amount of force.

House curled around himself defensively. There was no doubt that was going to bruise.

"I said, who the hell is Wombat?" said Eric again, not taking silence as an answer.

"Dr…..Chase…..," House managed to grind out between holding his jaw still and his now sore side.

Eric threw the phone to House, a gruesome smile upon his face.

"Go ahead," he started as he backed away, "Answer it. _Talk_ to him."

House didn't like the way he said that, but he knew there was no choice. This was a chance to give everyone more information.

"Chase, listen," started House.

"_No, House. You listen. Keep talking to me as long as you can, ok? We're gonna call the phone company after this and find your location through the satellite. Just say something snarky if you understand."_

House was so relieved by the information, he would've hugged Chase, "Yea…like, that'll…help."

"_House, why do your words sound so forced?"_

"Broken…jaw…"

There was silence on the other end for a moment before, "_Seriously?"_

"No. Lying…for fun."

"_So, you're telling me that when we find you and get you back, you'll have to have your jaw wired shut for a few weeks?"_

House heard a gasp in the background that sounded very much like that boss of his with the nice ass. If Cuddy knew, then the cops would be all over this by now. So that's what Chase must've meant by the whole tracing the call through satellite thing. He visibly grimaced at the way his train of thought lethargically pulled into to the station.

"Cuddy there?" asked House with a tinge of softness to his voice. He could feel Eric's eyes practically boring a hole into his forehead at the mention.

"Who's Cuddy, House?" asked Eric, noting the way House's face and voice seemed to soften.

House sat up slowly and rested on his right arm, painfully holding the phone with his left.

"_House, you there?"_

"Yea…here," said House, "… boss. She's my boss."

He was getting better at talking without moving his jaw so much.

"_Are you trying to tell me you want to talk to Cuddy?"_

Eric smiled noting the way concern sparked into his face at the mention of this Cuddy woman. So, Dr. House liked her, did he? He was positive there would be a way to make use of this new information. Maybe there was more to this whole torture thing than the physical.

"Yes," said House simply, "hurry. Need to hang up soon."

There was a bit of conversation on the other end before Chase responded.

"_House, you gotta keep one of us on the phone for another 30 seconds or so. Think you can?"_

He gulped, watching Eric slowly making his way across the room towards a black box House hadn't noticed before. He slowly opened it and started to pull something out.

"I can, but you might not like what you hear," House replied.

There were some shuffling noises on the phone and House knew the phone was going to Cuddy.

"_House?"_

And there it was. Her voice. So full of concern and anxiety. Was it all because of him? He wanted to think so, but the rational part of his brain knew it wasn't just him. It was her concern for the well being of her hospital as well. Without him, there was no diagnostics. In the pit of his stomach, he knew his logic was flawed.

"Yea, I'm here," he said straining to control his voice as a wave of nausea hit him again.

"_Oh, God. Greg, are you ok? You sound like you're in so much pain."_

House didn't initially register that she had used his first name. The intense wave of nausea had a strangle hold on him and threatening to empty his stomach if he didn't take a moment to conquer it. After a tense moment, he got himself under control and responded as well as he could.

"I'm fine. Just fine, Lisa."

"_House…"_

"How much longer?"

House looked at Eric, trying to gage his level of irritation at the moment. However, there was a glimmer in his eye that House didn't like. He made quick note of a new toy Eric had brought with him and he held his hand out, signaling House that the conversation was over.

"Need to go now, Cuddles."

"_House. There's 15 seconds left. You can't… Did you just call me Cuddles?"_

House never heard Cuddy's response. He could only guess at the way his nickname for her had hit the nerve. He hoped she at least took solace in the fact that he could still be sarcastic in a time like this.

"Dr. Chase is it?" asked Eric, brandishing a shiny dagger towards House.

"_No. This isn't Chase. Who is this?"_

"Name's not important," he said while taking the phone away from his ear and pressing a few buttons to engage the speaker phone, "Would I be right in guessing that this is Dr. Cuddy?"

"_Why does that matter?"_

Eric smirked and knew that things were about to get very interesting.

"Dr. Cuddy, would you say House is a good man?"

House looked incredulously at Eric. Was this becoming an ethical issue? He sure hoped not.

"_House is an excellent doctor if that's what you mean…"_

"Yes, so excellent that he killed my girlfriend," said Eric simply.

House physically flinched at Eric's response. He hated to be reminded of the fact that he missed the hemorrhage. Not only had he not solved his puzzle, but he had lost a patient at the end of the day too. It was a lose-lose situation no matter how he looked at it.

"I believe I asked if Dr. House was a good man. So, tell me, Dr. Cuddy. Is he a good human being?"

Cuddy was silent on the other end, debating on how to respond as to not incriminate House any further. She knew there would be no way to appease this psycho.

"So is that a no?"

"_House can be rude and caustic, but his levels of diagnoses is far superior to…"_

"Ah. Okay. He's rude and caustic," Eric said, snagging the negative. He watched as House rolled his eyes in an attempt to deflect Cuddy's words.

"What else, Dr. Cuddy? Has he ever done anything to you?"

"_I don't get what you're driving at."_

House knew that tone of voice. That was the "push one more button and Cuddy will explode" tone. Ordinarily, he loved to get Cuddy to the point where she would run her mouth, but right now was not a good time.

Eric smirked and walked closer to House, sitting on the floor and putting the phone between the two of them.

"You're tone of voice tells me otherwise," he said with chagrin, "What'd he do? C'mon. You can tell me."

"_I really don't know what…"_

"Sure you do. What is it? Does he play God with his patients? Does he flirt with the nurses? …Does he flirt with you?"

House closed his eyes, suddenly understanding where Eric was trying to get this conversation to go next. If he couldn't get House to break down physically, he was going to try a new tactic.

The diagnostician hoped against anything that Cuddy didn't let that last one get to her. He prayed (to whoever or whatever it was that might actually exist) that she wouldn't snap and give herself away.

"_House and I have a purely professional relationship…"_

House opened his eyes only to be greeted by Eric's knowing gaze. The tension in Cuddy's voice practically oozed out of the phone. Even if House didn't know her better, he would've known that he had struck a nerve.

"So really, what you're telling me is that you don't want me to hurt Dr. House. Am I right?" asked Eric as he inched closer to House with the knife, leaving the phone where it was on the ground.

"Cuddy, hang up the phone," said House as loud as he could without moving his jaw. Eric smiled, watching House squirm.

"Tell me, Dr. Cuddy. Or was it Lisa?" asked Eric through his sadistic smirk as he came up behind House and put his hand over the wound in House's left shoulder. House took a sharp inhale in response.

"_House? What…What did you do to him?"_

House grunted as Eric applied pressure with his thumb to the bullet wound. His head began to swim, but he refused to succumb to the darkness again.

"Oh, nothing. We're just having fun," said Eric. "Tell me Dr. Cuddy. Are you in love with Dr. House?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone and House felt his heart pounding in anticipation of her response. He wanted nothing more than for her to say yes, but at the same time, he didn't want to know under these circumstances. What if she only said yes because of her fear that she would lose him? What if she only said it out of pity?

"Well, Dr. Cuddy?" asked Eric.

It was then that both Eric and House realized that Cuddy had hung up without responding.

Eric sneered before he looked at House. "Well, what do you know? Unrequited love."

House fought to keep his heart together. It had always been a game between the two of them. A little flirting, a lot of harassing and after all the tension built its way up to near disastrous levels, both parties would go home and let it go.

He closed his eyes and brushed himself against the darkness that he had sunken into earlier. His thoughts scattered until the only thing his mind could focus on was Cuddy and her lack of a response. HE felt betrayed. After the years of flirting and banter, he had hoped that it meant something more than just friendship. He hadn't felt like this since Stacy had went behind his back and caused him the permanent pain that was his useless leg. House felt his heart starting break as he slipped into unconsciousness once again. Cuddy still framed in his mind.

**[H] [H] [H]**

"Yes," whispered Cuddy with the phone pressed to her ear as she stared at the ground. She wasn't ready to admit this feeling out loud, but if it meant giving House some hope to hold on to, she would do it a million times over.

"H-hello?" she asked suddenly not hearing a response. As she pulled the phone away form her ear, she immediately noted that the screen was black. The battery had died.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Sorry to keep you all waiting. I've strayed quite a bit from my original storyline and have had to readjust accordingly. I've decided to make this more Huddy oriented (YAY!) eventually as I'm sure you can tell. Also, I want to say a quick thanks to those of you that submitted reviews and suggestions. I'm glad you're enjoying this and I hope you continue to enjoy. Until next chapter...

xoTrebleMaker


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House. ...but you already knew that.

**[H] [H] [H]**

It had been exactly 10 hours and 46 minutes since Officer Grady had left the hospital, but Cuddy kept telling herself that she wasn't counting. She knew his goal had been to call Dr. House's cell phone service provider, knowing full well that it would be difficult to extract the kind of data he needed from the company. She looked at the clock and watched as another minute ticked by.

It was officially 2:27pm and she still had not heard from Officer Grady or the crazed psycho path keeping House hostage.

Cuddy watched outside her window and allowed memories of Officer Grady making his way to his police car, parked right in front of the hospitals entrance, come back to her. Her mind had been (and still was) in complete shambles, refusing to stay in one place for more than 2 minutes at the most. It jumped from the piles of unfinished paperwork on her desk, to Wilson who had refused to leave her office since she arrived, back to the piles of paperwork she knew she should start, but it inevitably jumped to House.

She sighed and rested her head in her hands, never letting her gaze stray from the view outside her window. She pretended to be interested in the nurses walking in and out of her hospital. She knew if she turned, Wilson would start questioning her and right now, she wanted to be lost in her own head.

Her prayers, however, were not answered as the oncologist began to speak.

"How are you holding up?" he asked for what must have been the 36th time today.

It wasn't that he was trying to be redundant; it was, however, that he could tell by the dark circles, bloodshot eyes and pale pallor that Cuddy was not "fine" or "okay" or "alright" as she had responded every time previous. He paused for a few seconds, not really expecting her to answer, before he tried a new tactic.

"How did he sound?" he asked cautiously, already knowing the answer.

He had seen her visibly stiffen in her seat and his own heart hammered painfully in his chest. He hadn't slept more than an hour or two at the most last night in his anxiety over House's condition. Every time he'd fall asleep, he'd startle himself awake to every little noise his own home had made. He finally settled into his couch around 1:30am and dozed off and on with the TV on to help himself "sleep".

"So?" he prompted, trying to shake off his own fatigue.

"Horrible," she stated with a strained tone, "He's…um…he's obviously in a lot of pain."

Cuddy's voice cracked from her raw nerves and it did not go unnoticed to Wilson. The oncologist was at a loss for what to do. He could comfort Cuddy, but judging by her body language, he was not sure that was the best way to go about the present situation.

"I don't think he heard me," she said suddenly.

Guilt washed over Cuddy with the weight of a full force tsunami. She knew she had been upset when she realized House was missing. At the time, she had assumed House was playing hooky, which meant she was on vacation from his insane procedural requests and callous banter. It was almost a relief then.

She was anxious when she realized House was missing, but she tried not to let herself get too worked up. After all, it would be just like House to feign a mysterious disappearance just to mess with Cuddy and his minions.

However, once Cuddy realized that House had been kidnapped and harmed, she had easily reached her breaking point. She would appear strong in front of the police. She would appear strong in front of her staff, but when she was alone in the office (or home alone), she would find herself silently crying. She was only grateful that Wilson was both a friend as well as an employee; he had walked in on one of her crying sessions earlier in the day and had stayed with her but not said a word. His silent support had been exactly what she had needed.

"Didn't hear what, Lisa?" asked Wilson, standing now to pace.

It was at this point that Cuddy finally turned to face Wilson. Her mascara had smudged as unshed tears welled up over her bottom lid. She blinked a few times to clear her vision, causing the few saline tears she had been so desperately trying to suppress to escape.

Wilson bit his lip as he looked at her. Now he _really_ didn't know what to do. His heart screamed to comfort his friend, but his logical brain reasoned that now was not the time. He should wait until she finished her train of thought.

It wasn't often that Cuddy opened up to him and he had always assumed it was because of his status as employee as well as friend that held her back. However, seeing her now with mascara running down her cheeks and worry shining in her eyes, Wilson was beginning to suspect it was his relationship with House that kept her from divulging her secrets.

"He…He asked how…I…felt," was all she could say before she looked down at her hands. Warm tears began to drip from her eyes, leaving a smoky pattern on her hands.

Wilson couldn't fight his urge to console her any more. He walked over, as casually as he could, and placed a hand lightly on Cuddy's shoulder. He allowed himself to rub her back while he talked calmly to her.

"House asked you how you felt?" he asked as innocently as possible.

Cuddy shook her head slowly. She didn't want to be having this conversation. She didn't want to be admitting to Wilson how she felt about his best friend. It felt so juvenile to be talking to him like this. Weren't they all out of high school now? Shouldn't she be talking to House directly?

She was tired, in all actuality, of this entire situation. Sure, they'd bicker like an old married couple. House would make sure to have her shaking with obvious rage from direct result of his childish banter. However, when she went home at night, it was always his face she would see as she closed her eyes. It was always Greg House that she wished would be lying in bed with her, pressed against her back with his arm around her waist possessively.

She was mad at herself for actually falling in love with the jerk. How could she have been so careless?

"Who asked you?" said Wilson softly. He had felt her tense up under his hand and knew she was getting irritated. He only hoped it wasn't from his attempt to sooth her.

Cuddy looked up, her eyes shining with anger, "That psycho asked me! He asked me if I loved House!"

Just as suddenly as the outburst had happened, Cuddy covered her face in her hands and started crying in earnest. It had taken all that she had to keep that little secret and now that she had broken her emotional dam, everything was bound to come pouring out.

Wilson froze and tried to think back to the conversation Cuddy had had on the phone. She had whispered a faint "yes" at the end of her conversation, but it was only after she had realized the phone had died that her face had become ashen.

Wilson understood what was transpiring around him in a flourish of thought. Cuddy was reluctant to let House know her feelings on a good day. If she was forced to admit her feelings with House under the power of some psycho, she was worried that he would see her confession as a statement of pity. She wanted to be able to tell House her feelings and have him understand she was being sincere. At least, that's what the hopeless romantic in him wanted to believe.

"So, what you're telling me is that you think by saying how you feel, House will interpret your confession as pity?" asked Wilson knowingly.

Cuddy was hit with another wave of tears as she jumped aboard Wilson's train of thought. She hadn't even considered that! Of course, House would automatically think Cuddy had taken pity on him and said she loved him only as a way to give him something to hold on to. He would never trust or respect her again!

She shook with the force of her sobs and made herself take deep breaths to stave off the feeling of hick-ups that plagued her stomach.

"I-I didn't even think of that," she admitted once she caught her breath.

"Then what did you mean, Lisa?"

She looked up into Wilson's eyes, debating whether or not she should tell him.

"I'm afraid that he didn't even hear me. I'm afraid that he thinks I don't care…at all…"

It was then that Wilson realized the full gravity of the situation. Either way, it would leave House emotionally damaged at this point and with his current physical state, House needed any stability he could get.

As Cuddy stood, Wilson brought her into his embrace. His eyes were beginning to well up as well as hers. He had always been a tender heart, but now that he understood where Cuddy was coming from, he could only pray that he had heard her. He could only hope he would have an anchor in the darkness.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House awoke to his body trembling violently. He squeezed his teeth together in an effort to keep his teeth from chattering, causing him to squeez his eyes shut in an effort to keep from crying out. An explosion of fire flared in the left side of his jaw with such fury that his already blurred vision started to fade. He slowly eased the pressure off his jaw, but kept his teeth close together to keep them as still as possible. He knew his jaw couldn't take the jarring right now, especially not after what he had just done.

He still had a splitting headache that he was trying desperately to ignore. However, the worst of his pain was probably coming from the part of his body that had been least jarred by his assailant. His right leg felt as if a grizzly bear were viciously attacking it with his teeth as well as a chainsaw. House once again began to clench his teeth together to control the pain, but his jaw began to pulse fiercely in protest.

He had never been in so much pain at one time in his life, including the many years ago that he suffered through the sensation of muscle death. He had thought that his infarction had been his own personal hell, but now he wasn't too sure. It was almost too much to take.

He slowly realized that he had beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and he knew that his body was covered in a thin film of perspiration. His shirt clung to him as if it were a second skin, causing his shoulder to sting savagely. Despite the fever, House felt as though he were freezing from the inside out. His thought process slowly registered the classic symptoms of withdrawal.

Slowly, House forced himself to sit up. It required all the strength he had left in his body and he sloppily rested his body against the closest wall. He felt himself shaking against the wall, afraid to cry out yet afraid to be sitting where he was completely alone.

He blinked slowly, trying to clear the haze his brain had created in an attempt to shield itself from its misery. He registered the blinding whiteness of the walls around himself and realized that it must be day time. However, he didn't know if it was daytime _still_ or daytime _again_. His natural time clock was too messed up to tell.

He tried to swallow as a thought crossed his mind. If it had been over a day in this nightmare as he thought it might be, why hadn't his shoulder bled out? He closed his eyes and lazily opened them again and began reaching his right hand to the back of his left shoulder.

He expected to feel pain. Instead, he felt a bit of tenderness, but nothing to indicate that the bullet had gone straight through his shoulder. He closed his eyes and let his right arm drop to his side once again as it dawned on him. The bullet was lodged somewhere in his shoulder.

He opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps and a noise that sounded sort of like a pack of cards being thrown on the ground. His blue eyes immediately came to gaze upon a grey version of his own.

The psychopath had started to develop photos of the torture he was subjecting him to. His finally allowed the groan he had been suppressing to escape his lips as he closed his eyes and turned his head away from the graphic images scattered before him.

He just about screamed bloody murder as Eric grabbed House forcefully by his jaw and changed his focus onto his own eyes.

"What's wrong, House?" he sneered, "Don't you want to see how good a model you've been so far?"

He threw House's head back, causing another stab of pain to course through House's face. His trembling increased suddenly and he looked up in disbelief at Eric. How could anyone be so emotionally devoid? House knew he could be cold sometimes, but it wasn't as if he were a robot. He had feelings; he just chose not to share them if he could help it.

Eric glared down at House, brandishing the dagger again, as he pointed to the photos displayed on the floor. House immediately took the hint and with a shaky breath, he forced himself to look at the picture.

What he saw horrified him beyond belief. Not only was it disturbing to see the torture and pain that was etched into the face in the photograph, it was horrifying to think that it was his own face contorting in those ways.

House shuddered violently, a combination of his disgust and his withdrawal taking hold of his body. He felt the muscles in his stomach contracting painfully and he swallowed as his mouth began to water uncontrollably. The diagnostician moaned pitifully and leaned against his wall, gazing at the blank ceiling as he willed himself not to vomit. He wasn't entirely sure he could even open his mouth that wide.

However, House found himself retching uncontrollably as Eric, taking advantage of his victims obvious weakness, kicked House hard in the stomach. Tears flowed freely from House's normally radiant blue orbs with a combination of his sick as well as the pain in his jaw intensifying to such heights that his other senses dulled to minimal levels.

He fell sideways, away from his sick on the sheet on the floor, and curled up defensively. His hands automatically went to his jaw, gently cradling and protecting it as he willed himself to shut his mouth and keep it that way. He could just barely make out the low laughter of Eric as he crouched down to eye level with House.

"You wanna call your girlfriend, you pathetic bastard?" asked Eric as he tossed House's phone to the floor beside him.

The phone landed with a sharp wrap as House's thoughts drifted to Cuddy. His head spun with the memory of who knew how many hours ago now. He had talked to her. He had heard her voice and had taken comfort from it. But she had denied him, hadn't she?

House felt the ache in his heart before his memory caught up with him. He watched the scene play out before his very eyes.

Eric's voice floated back, even though the creep was sitting across the room, fiddling with his dagger and watching House like a hawk.

_"Sure you do. What is it? Does he play God with his patients? Does he flirt with the nurses? …Does he flirt with you?"_

House closed his eyes, trying to shrug off the memory that was beginning to eat him alive. However, it was Eric's voice that floated back to him once again.

_"Oh, nothing. We're just having fun. Tell me Dr. Cuddy. Are you in love with Dr. House?"_

It was the silence in his mind that brought salty liquid to his eyes once again. He closed his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly to keep them from escaping. However, he wasn't sure if he was succeeding or not as the sweat upon his brow flowed down his cheeks just as his tears would have.

He could only guess by the dark chuckle from across the room that he was indeed crying. He hated himself for it, but he was so tired at this point that he could hardly control himself. He just wanted to be out of here, away from the pain. Away from it all.

_It hurts_, he thought to himself, _my God does it hurt._

House was so overwhelmed by pain, both emotionally and physically, that he didn't know what actually hurt anymore. He was completely overwhelmed.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Wilson nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the phone ring. It had been about 20 minutes since his talk with Cuddy and he had decided to go up to his office to take care of some paperwork so he wouldn't fall too far behind.

As he scrambled to answer the phone, he realized a piece of paper from his patient file was stuck to his face. He swiped at it furiously as he picked up the receiver on his desk and answered.

"Dr. Wilson."

"They know where he is."

Wilson took in a short breath as he heard Cuddy's voice. He could feel a bit of weight coming off his chest even as more anxiety took its place. Finding House was only half the battle. Getting him back to PPTH was the other and much trickier part of this situation.

"What do we do?" he asked her, wanting to help in any way he could.

"Just come to my office. Officers Grady and Porter are here to speak with us about a plan of action."

"On my way," he said before hanging up and practically bolting out of his office.

He was too antsy to wait for the elevator and he found himself bumping into nurses and other employees of the hospital, as he jostled his way down the hallway to the stairwell.

He didn't register how fast he was going down the stairs until he nearly tumbled down the last couple of stairs to the first floor. He caught himself on the railing just as he was about to face plant into the tile before him. He sighed, relieved that he escaped harm as he briskly walked to Cuddy office and let himself in without knocking.

Cuddy, Grady and Porter both turned at the sudden intrusion, but it was Cuddy's obviously anxious expression that caused Wilson the most worry.

"What do we do?" he asked looking at the officers, "How can I help?"

"Dr. Wilson, you've done all that you can at this time and we'd like to thank you for-"

"That's bullshit!" exclaimed Wilson, finally reaching his emotional breaking point.

"Sir, if you could please just calm yourself," stated the soft tenor of Officer Porter. He was clearly a newer addition to Princeton's finest.

"Calm myself? What do you mean, 'Calm myself'?" asked Wilson, slashing his fingers through the air in mock quotations as he spoke, "My best friend has been kidnapped, definitely shot and probably injured past that and you're telling me to calm down?"

Both officers took in Wilson's face, his disheveled hair and the frenzy that was starting to build behind his eyes as the looked to Cuddy for support.

"Wilson, they've got this under con-"

"No! No, you're not going to just dismiss us now," he said, half laughing in his hysteria, "You're going to let me help you. He's my best friend."

Cuddy looked at Wilson, her eyes dripping with sympathy. She wished there were something more she could do for him right now, but she was also anxious for Wilson to concede so they could go rescue House before anything took a turn for the worse.

"Wilson, let them do their job! Do you want them to waste more time here and leave House at the hand's of that psycho that could kill him at any time?!" Cuddy was standing now and staring Wilson down with her most authoritative gaze she could muster under such circumstances.

At once, Wilson felt like a fool. Of course, he should be letting the police get to their job, but to not be there was killing him. He was a doctor for Pete's sake! He could at least…

"Cuddy, I'm sorry, but I have to be there in some way," he said before looking at the officers. "I am still a doctor. You should get an ambulance and EMT crew to follow you and I want to be part of that team."

It was a finalizing statement. Cuddy could see by Wilson's stance that he wasn't going to concede and she half-heartedly wished she had thought of that herself.

"I think he has a good point, officers," she said.

Officer Grady and Porter looked at each other before looking at Wilson.

"Well then, let's not put this off any longer."

All three men left Cuddy's office. They had a doctor to rescue.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: ...and a cliffy. Sorry. Anyways, I just wanted to thank you all for sticking with this story.I hope I'm not disappointing you! Anyways, please don't forget to review. Any and all thoughts/comments are appreciated!!

xoTrebleMaker


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House, but you already knew that...

**[H] [H] [H]**

Wilson anxiously rubbed his hands up and down the soft material of his khakis. Although he had been briefed -- needlessly, he realized -- by the EMTs that he currently shared the ambulance with, he couldn't help but feel completely unprepared.

He intuitively knew he would know exactly how to treat any wounds that House may have suffered; he just wasn't entirely sure that he was prepared to see House in the state that he would be in.

Wilson sighed heavily and barely felt the bumps in the road as he went along. He couldn't stop playing out different scenarios in his mind. Would House be conscious? He most definitely hoped so. Would he be covered in blood or bruises? He prayed he wouldn't be.

He shook his head and glanced out the small window at the back of the ambulance, trying to distract himself. He didn't want to think about his best friend in any condition other than healthy and happy. Well, at least as happy as House could be, which meant sarcastic and surly.

"First time on the scene?" asked Dave, a veteran EMT that had helped brief Wilson.

Wilson nodded, trying to smile a bit as he did so. His smile fell flat and did not go unnoticed by Dave.

"It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't my best friend we were going to have to help," replied Wilson, not entirely sure why he was opening up all of a sudden. He blamed his sleep deprivation.

"Ah," said Dave knowingly, "That's a tough situation."

"You've been there?"

Dave nodded and a tinge of sadness entered his hazel eyes. Wilson didn't like where this was going.

"My wife. I had to pull her from a car wreck about two years after we were married," he said, smiling sadly. "She didn't survive one block past the scene."

Wilson looked at the floor briefly before he looked back at Dave, "I'm sorry."

"Its ok," he said while he nodded, "I mean, it was tough, but it was her time to go. I've accepted that now."

Wilson felt suddenly at ease. He was almost certain that it wasn't House's time to leave this earth. He would be able to do this. He would be able to help House.

Wilson didn't really notice the ambulance slowing to a stop until the vehicle was at a stand still and he jerked forward from inertia. He looked out the window and noted the apartment complex immediately.

It looked so innocent. After all, it was an average brick building with a few spots covered with deep green ivy. Each window was covered in white blinds, looking more like a college dorm than an apartment complex; it most definitely did not look like a place a psychotic madman would be hiding himself and a hostage.

The doors clanged open as the driver and second EMT sitting in the front of ambulance appeared. Their faces were a rehearsed state of relaxed that Wilson didn't like the sight of. It reminded him of the many times he had to tell his patients that they were slowly dying from a disease that their own body had created. He felt a hand on his upper arm and turned to meet Dave's gaze once more.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked.

Wilson took a deep breath, filling himself with oxygen and confidence.

"Yea. Let's do this."

**[H] [H] [H]**

House swallowed hard as the cold metal of the dagger remained beneath his throat. Eric had not removed it seeing as it was the only effective way to get House to look at the pictures he had been taken throughout the whole ordeal. He could practically feel the diagnosticians skin crawling with each glimpse into his tortured face, picture after gruesome picture.

It made him smile with wicked pleasure.

House wasn't sure how much more of this mental abuse he could take. He knew he was a right mess, but seeing himself in pain picture after picture was making him exhausted. It was sad, but he had realized at one point that he had been grateful for the horrid distraction. At least, with his eyes and mind occupied, his body didn't seem to scream at him quite as loudly for some sort of pain relief.

However, House quickly regretted this train of thought as he was forced to face was the defeated look that had invaded his eyes after his conversation, or rather lack there of, with Cuddy.

He closed his eyes and willed both the pictures and the memory to recede. It was only as the cool metal left his throat and reappeared by his outstretched arm, taped to the wall with duct tape, that House opened his eyes again.

"That's right, House," said Eric calmly, "Look at the pictures and I won't have to cut you again."

House had nearly forgotten that he was bleeding. The warmth of his blood in the slices across his right arm tingled briefly as a reminder to his stubbornness. He had tried to resist looking at the pictures, choosing instead to stay lost within his physical pain, before Eric started slashing.

He wasn't even sure how many lines scored his arm anymore. Was it eight or eighteen? He blinked and tried to glance at his arm, once again finding the dagger pressed against his throat, forcing him back to the pictures held by Eric's hands.

"What's wrong, House?" asked Eric, trying to provoke the man.

"Like you can't tell," whispered House through his teeth, paying special attention to holding his jaw still.

Sweat still dripped from his forehead in juxtaposition to the chill that plagued his bones, but the nausea had subsided for the time being. He hoped it stayed that way for a little while at least.

Eric was surprised that House had any fight left in him whatsoever. It wasn't that he hadn't expected the man to last so long, but he had expected House to stay in submission once he had caved in earlier. He had never expected the man to gain a second wind and fight back.

What Eric didn't know is that House had some how managed to separate his physical pain from his emotional uncertainty. It was a technique House had learned as a child, growing up under the strict rules and punishments his father often employed against him. He shivered slightly, taking great care not to accidentally slice his own throat open on the blade still held there, as some childhood memories leaked into his thought process.

They were only images. Flashbacks into a time when his mother, too drunk to stop his father, would lay on the couch as a young House would be lashed at with his father's belt after accidentally breaking a dish while trying to wash the sink full. The belt, the ruler and the paddle briefly flashed before his eyes and it was only a picture of himself, lying unconscious in black and white, that brought him back to the present.

He forced his painful memories back into the shadows for the time being. He knew they would be brought back by this situation, drawn to his mental weakness like a moth to a light. He needed to beat them away for right now. He could peel them apart and stick them back together again once he was in the sanctity of his own home with no one there to witness the process.

House had been relieved to see that the images he was being forced to look at had been becoming clearer as time wore on. Although the splitting headache he still felt was a testament to his concussion, he was relieved to see that it was improving over time instead of worsening.

A shiver ran down House's spine as a the familiar ache of nausea attempted to hijack his stomach once again. He suppressed it as best he could for the time being and closed his eyes briefly to help himself. As the dagger bit into his arm once again, he knew it had been a mistake.

"Why don't you just…stab me in earnest?" asked House sarcastically. He took a shaky breath, feeling the sting of the metal and the warmth of his blood running down his arm as he continued, "Or do you honestly think the whole slicing thing is effective?"

House looked up at Eric and knew immediately that his tongue had been better left without its attitude. There was anger and frustration behind the dark brown eyes that faced him now. House furrowed his brow, doing the best he could to look irritated by the whole situation. It was a brave front, because the doctor was internally squirming.

"Is that what you want, House?" asked Eric beginning to trail the dagger against House's arm to his shoulder. He paused briefly before lazily zigzagging the blade across the doctors chest, finally settling on his stomach.

House's eyes suddenly grew wide with fear, betraying the angry façade to which he had been clinging. He looked his assailant straight in the eye, hoping that he was bluffing. Seeing that he was not, House glanced at the dagger.

His calculating mind kicked into overdrive and he looked at the blade. Immediately, he noted that it was too short to do any significant damage to his internal organs. However, he knew that it would add to the already mind-numbingly high amount of pain that he was experiencing.

House resettled his face, attempting to seem calm and in control of a situation that he so clearly was not.

"You won't do it," he said through his teeth once again.

"That's where you're wrong, doc," said Eric.

There was a loud band as the door to Eric's apartment flung open. However, it was the sudden pain in House's lower left side that had his rapt attention. Eric hadn't been bluffing.

House looked up at Eric and watched as everything around him began to move in slow motion. He watched as two officers tackled Eric to the floor in a flurry of limbs and angry words. He could hear wheels coming down the hall and could only assume that it was a gurney coming to his aid.

His ears began to hum and House blinked, trying to stay in the situation as best he could. His right arm was starting to pulse in anger with the slices and pressure of the duct tape around it. House began to pull the tape off the wall and his arm, not feeling the tape leaving welts on his skin as it came free.

His head began to swim and it rolled slightly before he blinked it away. He took a deep breath and immediately felt the pull in his stomach. He looked down and saw, in horror, that the dagger was still buried in his body. The stain of crimson that was welling up around it frightened him, but he knew he needed to remove the dagger.

With his right hand trembling, House took a hold of the metal of the hilt and began to pull. He squeezed his eyes shut and stifled the yell in his throat as he felt the metal dislodging. It was only as he removed the blade completely and looked at the hole in his side, seeing it welling with blood, that he realized he was losing too much too quickly.

It was Wilson that arrived in the room first of any EMTs on the scene. He looked around and noted with an uneasiness that this apartment was completely ordinary except for the crazed man that owned it. As he swept the room, his eyes came to rest on the man leaning against the wall at the far end of the apartment and he sucked in a breath.

It was House.

Wilson immediately rushed over to his hurt friend, covered in sweat and shivering against the wall. He was relieved to see that he was still alive; however, the small pool of blood that was starting to gather by his hip was disturbing him greatly.

"House? Hey. Can you hear me?" he asked, gently shaking his friend's shoulder.

He heard House hiss in what he could only imagine was pain before the man before him blinked slowly and looked at him. Wilson knew it was taking House a great amount of effort to focus on him.

"You've got to stay with me, ok?" he asked.

House nodded slightly, relief flooding his system. If Wilson was here, that meant that they had found him and his pain would be over soon. He swallowed, shivering against the wall as a fresh sweat broke out over his body. He realized that his fever was breaking.

"Where does it hurt?" asked Wilson who was inspecting the gash in House side. The diagnostician didn't like the way Wilson brow wrinkled. It meant concern which meant it was serious.

"Everywhere," replied House barely above a whisper. His feet were starting to tingle -- a sign that his blood loss was becoming significant. He looked at Wilson with urgency, trying to convey his fear without words.

At that instant, the rest of the EMTs arrived and gently pushed Wilson away from his friend. Wilson could only watch, paralyzed with concern and fear, as they laid House down, placed him practically effortlessly on the gurney, began an IV line of saline and countless other essential vitamins, as well as apply pressure to the wound in his side.

Dave caught Wilson's eye and motioned with his head for him to follow the team out to the ambulance. They walked briskly and House watched the lights above him flickering in and out of focus as they went. He was entirely too weak to move, let alone speak. Blinking became an effort. He wanted so desperately to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

"Dr. House," said a voice not familiar to him and he opened his eyes, trying to find it.

His eyes caught sight of a man that looked to be in his late 30s with hazel eyes and a practiced expression of calm looking at him. He knew this was the man that was speaking to him.

"We need to you stay awake, Dr. House. Can you do that?"

House nodded slightly trying his best to fight his fatigue and blinked a few times. He looked up at the man that had spoken to him and realized that his mouth was still moving, but he couldn't understand what he was saying. He could feel his eyelids weighing heavy upon his eyes and it was with relief that House slipped into unconsciousness once again.

Dave cursed quietly as House closed his eyes and immediately pressed two fingers on his neck, looking for a pulse. Although it was a hair slower than he would have liked, it was still there and strong for the time being. He would take it.

He looked to Wilson who walked quietly alongside House like a zombie rather than a friend.

"You okay, Jim?" asked Dave as they reached the ambulance and the other EMTs worked to lift House into the ambulance. Wilson didn't even realize the use of his first name.

"Yea, I'm alright. Will House…" he trailed off unable to finish his sentence.

Dave smiled faintly before he replied, "I think so, but only time will tell."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy watched the flourish of activity as nurses bustled about in the clinic, suddenly being summoned to the ER. However, it was Brenda that walked with purpose to Cuddy's office and entered immediately after knocking.

"House just arrived in the ER. He's in rough shape," she said before walking out and shutting the door behind her.

The hair on Cuddy's arm stood on end as she watched Brenda jog in the direction of the ER. She soon found herself rushing in the same direction as her nurse in an attempt to see him. She knew it wouldn't be pretty, but she needed to be there.

As she walked past various emergency examining rooms, Cuddy was vaguely aware of complaints being made, diagnoses being made and, in extreme cases, groans of pain as bones were reset or Novocain was administered before stitches were put into place.

She was vaguely aware of the usual hustle and bustle of the ER as she walked to a particularly busy room and she knew at once that this was the room Dr. House was currently in. She steadied herself for a moment, preparing herself to enter the room.

She was just about to take a step forward as a warm hand fell upon her shoulder. She turned to see Wilson there, shaking his head.

"He's in rough shape," he said with a weak smile.

"How bad?"

"Bullet lodged in his shoulder, broken jaw, lacerations to his right arm, bruised ribs and…" he trailed off, not sure of how to tell her about the wound in his side that had caused him to lose an awful lot of blood.

Cuddy stood there, her eyes locked onto Wilson's. She slowly raised her hand to her mouth as she absorbed everything. It was a lot to hear. She could only imagine how much it felt like to House.

She was just about to pressure Wilson finish when she heard the rush and a team began to wheel House from his exam room towards the OR. Wilson took a step closer to Cuddy and wrapped his arm around her as House came closer. She felt her flinch as her eyes roved over his broken form on its way past.

She watched as House seemed to wheel past her in slow motion, his shirt cut open now. She immediately noted the sheen of sweat that covered his body and she realized that he had been suffering through withdrawal symptoms on top of everything else. She immediately noted the strange shape of his jaw and could see the bruise running along his jaw line on the left side. She took in the wound in his shoulder, noting the shape and size and knew that he _had_ actually been shot. She flinched to see the purple and green bruise forming on the right side of his ribcage.

However, it was the gaping wound in his left side that made her blood run cold and her stomach suddenly fall. She turned away from House and buried her face into Wilson's chest, letting the tears run freely. Wilson held onto her and kept his face hardened. He had already had his moment of weakness in the ambulance.

"Wilson, I-I...I c-can't lose him," she said between sobs.

The oncologist could only hold her as she cried. It was his turn to be strong.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: I'm getting good at this whole cliff hanger thing... Sorry about that, but it keeps you all coming back! Anyways, I will be shifting this story towards a more Huddy friendly plot soon. Also, as requested, I will put some House/Wilson friendship dialogue and stuff in here. All in good time of course. :)

As always, thanks for sticking with me and please REVIEW! I love to get feedback!!

xoTrebleMaker


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **House isn't mine. End of story.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy jolted awake, having caught herself dozing for what must've been the 4th time since she had taken a seat next to House. She knew she needed to go home and get some real sleep, but she didn't want to leave her friend alone.

Friend. Now there was something she needed to contemplate.

She blinked a few times and looked at House, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest; glancing at his heart monitor, she watched its motion and listened to the steady beep to confirm he was sleeping before she let herself fall into thought.

Cuddy smiled slightly, letting her mind take her back to her college days. Even then, she had found him attractive, but his sarcasm and confidence -- frequently bordering on arrogance -- had kept her feelings for him at bay.

There was only one time she had let her feelings get the best of her. However, neither of them had read much into it. After all, they both had a fair amount of alcohol in their systems that night. It was almost to be expected that she, the drunk party girl, would wind up in his bed, right?

She sighed softly as she reached out and gently took his hand in hers. She allowed her memories to run rampant through her mind as she gently rubbed her thumb over the top of his hand.

She gave pause to all the banter. It was definitely more playful than malicious, even if it did manage to leave her less than thrilled. She considered all his lewd comments aimed at her "fun bags" and her rear. She smirked slightly, realizing that it was almost always the first thing he'd comment on if he wanted to win an argument. Knowing House, that had to mean something. He thought too much for it _not _to mean something.

She mentally cursed herself as she stumbled upon that secret compartment in her heart that she had reserved for him. Now that it had been rediscovered, it was almost like putting a box in front of Pandora and asking her not to open it. There was no denying that she liked him and had for quite a while.

She was distracted by her thoughts by the soft sound of shoes hitting the floor.

"Dr. Cuddy? Are you still here?" asked the familiar voice.

Cuddy smiled as she turned to Cameron. She hadn't seen her since this morning after she had requested approval for a procedure for their patient Percy. The man had been diagnosed with cancer.

Cuddy checked the clock to her right and was shocked to see it was half past ten at night. She hadn't meant to stay so long. She just wanted to check House's chart, review the surgical statistics from yesterday and scoot on home. Obviously, that hadn't happened.

"I could ask the same of you, you know," she replied with a tired voice. She noted Cameron smiled in sympathy and awkwardly wrung her hands together as she looked at the floor.

"I just wanted to see how he was before I left," she said, motioning to House, "Percy…or rather, Mr. Goldman, has been handed off to Wilson now. We don't have anything to do."

Cuddy nodded and began to stand when a slow burning hatred began to ooze its way up through her gut. She dropped back down in her seat and pretended to find a more comfortable sitting position when a realization hit her. She was actually jealous of Cameron being near House!

A knowing glimmer appeared in Cameron's eyes as she approached House's bed and picked up his chart. Cuddy was thankful that her colleague picked up his file and averted her eyes for a few moments. She needed the brief time to compose herself.

Cameron glanced up at House, her brows furrowed slightly as she spoke, "Has he woken up yet? There's no record of sedatives in his chart."

"He woke up twice yesterday, but was too disoriented to know anything more than his name and who he was speaking to at that point," she replied.

Cameron nodded a bit before she continued, "Isn't that…well…worrisome for a concussion?"

Cuddy nodded slightly, not wanting to let her concern show any more than it already was.

"Yea," she replied, not much louder than a whisper.

Cameron carefully put his chart back where she had found it and scanned the room for additional chairs. She found one in the corner opposite the door and pulled it next to Cuddy. It was obvious to the young doctor that the Dean of Medicine needed someone in whom she could confide.

"So…" began Cameron unsure of how to bring it up.

"I'm alright," said Cuddy, knowing Cameron's reputation for empathy.

She had expected Cameron to stop by a few hours ago, in all honesty. Cuddy had known that Mr. Goldman had been diagnosed and moved to the cancer wing hours ago. It was what had, thankfully, pulled Wilson away from her. It was enough to simmer in her own confusion over House, but to have his best friend besot with worry around her was starting to drive her to insanity.

Cameron just looked at Cuddy, "Are you sure? I mean, I talked to Wilson…"

"Of course, you did," she said with a slight chuckle. Sometimes Wilson could be worse than House. Granted, Wilson actually filled his clinic hours and didn't give Cuddy half the headache House did in regards to formal complaints and lawsuits, but the level at which he understood her sometimes frightened her.

"I'm just saying that if you need to talk," stated Cameron simply, "I'm here for you."

Cuddy looked at Cameron for a moment and opened her mouth to speak when she heard the heart monitor to her left start to increase in speed. She looked at the monitor and then down to the man it was attached to, noting the House was trying to open his eyes again.

"I should go," said Cameron, standing up and walking to the door. She paused after sliding the door open and took in the scene. Cuddy was standing now, one hand holding House's hand -- mindful of the heart monitor attached to his finger. Her other hand was gently stroking his cheek, encouraging him to wake up.

So Wilson was right then. Cuddy really did have feelings for House. Cameron smiled a bit and turned to leave. She hoped they would talk about this, for once and for all.

House struggled to open his eyes, feeling as though someone were holding them shut and weighing them down. He groaned a bit, more out of frustration than pain or fatigue, before he finally succeeded in raising his lids enough to peer out at his surroundings.

He blinked, clearing the sleep out of his line of sight and vaguely registered that his vision was almost normal again. He blinked and comprehended that his head injury must be improving. He stared up at the ceiling and was vaguely aware pain in key areas of his body. He could tell that his head, shoulder, stomach and jaw were still painful, but it wasn't nearly as intense as it had been; for that, he was grateful.

His eyes fluttered again and he fought against the wave of sleep that wanted to take him back into the dark. Using a great deal of effort, he managed to keep his eyes half open. His mind slowly registered a familiar fog and he realized that must be on a morphine drip. At least his indifference to the pain he was feeling made sense now. He knew it was there, but his conscious mind didn't care; he smiled a bit and knew he could get used to that feeling.

It was just around his revelation of the gloriousness that was morphine hit him that he also registered the sensation of someone gently caressing his cheek. He blinked slowly and looked out of the corner of his eye to see who it was.

"Hey," said Cuddy softly, moving her hand away from his cheek as she pulled her chair closer to his bedside. She wanted to ask him how he was feeling, but she knew better than to bring that up. She knew she would only get a "fine" or "what do you think?" in response.

"Hey," said House blinking slowly. This did not go unnoticed by Cuddy.

"What's wrong?" she asked, reflexively pulling out her pen light and flicking the obnoxious light into his eyes, checking his response.

"How high is my drip?" he asked lazily. He felt like he was floating out of his body even as he was returning to his senses. He found it difficult to speak as well, something which he also attributed to the morphine drip.

Cuddy moved to the machine and checked the levels. They were a bit on the high side, but definitely within normal range. She had thought House would have liked it better that way.

Cuddy worked quickly, taking out her key to the morphine machine and turning the knob underneath the glass down to a more normal level. Her mission accomplished, she turned back to House.

House blinked again, feeling his descent back down into his own body. He was going to miss the feeling, but at least his mind was coming back to him and he didn't have to work so hard to stay awake.

"Can't move my mouth," he said. His words were still a little slurred. His brow furrowed as he moved his tongue about and realized its motions were restricted. He winced slightly as he tried to open his mouth. His jaw began to protest, but he soon found himself not caring about the pain or the inability to open his mouth. He _really_ could get used to this morphine drip.

"House, do you know where you are right now?" Cuddy asked, not wanting to tell him what was really wrong with his jaw at the moment.

"Princeton-Plainsboro," he said, swallowing painfully. A faint taste of metal plagued his tongue causing further confusion. He began to speak again, "Did I bite my tongue or something?"

"Uh, not exactly."

House tensed as much as the drugs and fatigue would allow. It hadn't gone unnoticed to him. _It_ was there. The tone of voice Cuddy used when she was hiding something. He raised his right hand, and winced almost instantly. He took a breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to see. His face remained unchanged as he took what must have been about 100 stitches holding together 9 separate slices. He tried to make a fist, testing his pain threshold and found that he couldn't even touch his fingertips to his palm. He carefully placed his arm back along his side.

Slowly he raised his left hand and felt the side of his face. It was tender along his jaw and his memory was quick to provide an image of a nasty right hook. He pushed the memory away and felt his brain whirring away, cranking out a list of possibilities. His jaw had no doubt been broken and the way to correct that was…

"Tell me they didn't," he said as he dropped his hand to his side and let his head relax into the pillow.

"Didn't what, House?"

"Didn't rip the head off my dolly," he retorted, looking her in the eye from where his head rested on the bed. His voice rose in volume as he spoke again, "What do you _think_ I mean?!"

He looked up at the ceiling, allowing his tongue to trace the inside of his mouth when it found what he was hoping it wouldn't.

"Aren't braces supposed to be on the _outside_ of your teeth?" he asked with more than a hint of indignation.

Cuddy chewed on her lip nervously. "You have a Condylar fracture, House. You're lucky they manipulated the bone back into place enough to just wire you shut!"

"Right," he began, pushing himself off the bed. He fought against the jelly-like feeling coursing through his body from the pain killers in his system. However, he found himself working to ignore the protest of his shoulder and stomach as well. The discomfort was obvious in his rough tone as he continued, "Because a well placed wrap wouldn't have done the same thing."

"Oh! Right!" she huffed even as she placed a hand behind his back and helped him sit up, "Like you would've kept that on for more than 5 minutes!"

Cuddy would've discouraged him from sitting up and moving around, but she could tell House was slowly returning to his old self. Anything she recommended would be taken into consideration before he acted against her recommendations to the fullest of his ability. His stubbornness amazed her sometimes.

House glared up at her, something that was strange to him as he usually towered over her instead. He shrugged away from her gentle hand, ignoring the tension in the side of his stomach that he recognized as stitches. His brow furrowed, adding confusion to the already prominent display of anger, as she stiffened.

He closed his eyes briefly, feigning control over his discomfort as he worked to control his memories instead.

Eric's voice floated into his head, plaguing him with the one question Cuddy had not only refused to answer, but had actually disconnected herself from by hanging up the phone. She didn't have feelings for him, yet here she was with worry and patience etched into her every expression. Something wasn't adding up and House didn't like where the whole situation was inevitably headed.

He sighed and resigned to the obvious fact that they needed to talk. He thought for a moment and realized now would be the perfect opportunity to talk. If the conversation were to head in a direction he didn't like, he could always fake some pain which would up his morphine. It was a win-win situation.

He tried to open his mouth, to goad her into such a conversation, but the wires wrapped around his teeth literally kept his mouth shut. His frustration with her, his injuries and his impeded lucidity were only increasing his agitation. His heart monitor beeped a bit behind him and he knew he needed to get his feelings in check before Cuddy mistakenly interpreted his rising blood pressure with rising pain. Not that he would mind the increase in morphine, but he needed his mind for the time being.

"Give me my chart," he said bluntly, glancing up at Cuddy from under his brow only to look at his feet once he met her gaze.

Cuddy tore her eyes away from the heart monitor and met his gaze briefly. She knew the glance he had given her and she recognized the way he was avoiding her gaze. She walked to the foot of his bed and retrieved the blue patient folder clearly labeled "House, Gregory" and handed it to him.

She watched intently as he read through his most recent surgery. She noted the way his face would tense and relax with each note scribbled in his charts, but she noted the one expression that wasn't disappearing despite his best effort to push it away. House was conflicted. The internal struggle hovered just behind the mask he had set into place.

Cuddy returned to the chair she had been sitting in earlier. She glanced at House's monitors taking note of his O2 stats and his now lowering blood pressure. She knew he had remembered a piece of his ordeal that she wished he hadn't and before she could stop herself, she began to speak.

"We need to talk."

At once, House began to intently study his own file as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet. He knew she was right, but he wasn't ready for this. Not now.

Cuddy took notice and decided to probe despite her gut feeling that it was a horrible idea.

"House? I really think we should-"

Cuddy was quickly cut-off by a blue folder being flung haphazardly to the end of the diagnostician's bed.

He flung himself backwards, trying to ignore the painful tension that pulsed at his stomach and shoulder. He didn't know why he was blatantly ignoring a situation he had been so willing to tackle minutes earlier. He would never admit to himself that he was terrified of what may come of this little talk, but he knew that's what was holding him back.

Finally, he broke his silence, not being able to withstand that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach any longer, "I know."

An awkward silence clung to the air, making the air feel as thick as a humid summer night. Cuddy looked at the floor, trying to give herself the courage to continue.

"I didn't hang up the phone, you know," she said, not much louder than a whisper.

She looked up at him, hoping to catch his electric blue gaze with her own. However, she was disappointed to see that his eyes were closed and he was laying back as if trying to sleep.

House wasn't sure where this new piece of information fit into his puzzle. If she hadn't hung up, then what had happened? Obviously, the only logical thing could be that the phone had died. That still didn't explain why she felt the need to tell him this. Unless, he suddenly realized, that she had answered the question before, not realizing the connection had been severed.

A jolt of electricity danced down his spine and he kept himself from shivering at the implication. He tried not to get his hopes up. After all, feelings -- especially those that required House to open up -- didn't usually end well for him.

Cuddy opened her mouth to continue her confession as House's heart monitor suddenly beeped frantically. She looked over to the monitor only to discover, with complete horror, that his blood pressure was dropping.

House laid on his bed suddenly feeling as though he were spinning wildly. He glanced at his heart monitor and noted that his vertigo was caused by a sudden drop in blood pressure. He looked at Cuddy who was now hovering over him, calling nurses into his room before turning back to speak to him.

He couldn't register anything he was saying. He did, however, register he look of fear and followed her gaze. His sheets were stained crimson just above his stomach on the left side. House comprehended the situation just as he began to fade into unconsciousness once more. He had ripped out his stitches.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Tahdah! Another chapter! Sorry it took a few days. Writer's block has been sneaking up on me lately. Anyways, please review! I love your feedback!

xoTrebleMaker


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House; blah, blah, blah, don't sue me!

**[H] [H] [H]**

"47 year old male, suffering from…"

House watched in shock and horror as Foreman led his minions through a diagnostic differential. His electric blue eyes bore into the dark skinned doctor, hoping to catch and exploit a moment of weakness. However, at the rate his leadership was progressing, House would settle for at least making Foreman nervous under his intent gaze. His brows furrowed in confusion, however, when the man didn't even glance in his general direction.

Worry struck him for a moment, making his eyes shine with intensity, and he seriously toyed with the notion that he might be losing the debilitating pressure of his stare. If he lost that, he'd be down to his sharp tongue and his ability to remain completely stoic in even the most heart wrenching situations.

It wasn't that patients in pain -- or seriously facing death, for that matter -- didn't bother the diagnostician; he had just perfected the ability to keep anything remotely "weak" completely under his control. It was a skill learned from an upbringing with a father deeply immersed in military tradition. The less House had whined and complained, the less frequently a household object would be turned on him as punishment.

House carefully took a few steps farther into the conference room connected to his office. His hand wrapped tightly around his cane as even his presence in the room seemed to do little to effect any of his lackeys. It was almost as if he were completely invisible.

"…head trauma…"

The diagnostician watched as the concern on Cameron's face began to shine through the mask of calm that she had been working so hard to control. He limped a few steps closer to her, taking in the hurt so evident in her eyes. It was obvious this case was weighing upon her heavily, though he couldn't imagine why it would be more than usual for the life of him.

"…bruising of the ribs…"

Words skimmed through his head, collecting almost automatically somewhere in his mind as his gaze scanned over Cameron's face one last time before moving on to the Wombat's instead. He was shocked to see concern pooling obviously on the Aussie's face as well.

A chuckle fell from his mouth as he looked at the ground and gazed at Chase from under his brow, trying to put the pieces of the emotional puzzle in the room into one picture. So far, all he could comprehend was Chase's mood was being affected by Cameron's overemotional state…again.

"…wounds to the shoulder and abdomen…"

House's head snapped up with a sudden familiarity. It was almost as if some sort of clarity of mind and understanding were working its way into House's sophisticated, logical brain. He couldn't quite make heads or tails or it yet, but it most certainly was beginning to gnaw at his stomach uncomfortably.

"…broken jaw, now wired shut…"

As the light thump of his cane echoed through the room, House limped his way closer to Foreman. He was obviously in everyone's line of sight now, but there was still no reaction. His nerve endings started to tingle with anxiety. Something was definitely not right.

"…and now respiratory arrest…"

The final words rang through House's mind and he suddenly found himself in a panic. Everything sounded entirely too familiar. With a shiver, House locked the pieces of his puzzle into place; they were discussing _him_.

That couldn't be true though. He was in his office standing on his own two feet with the help of his trusty cane. There was no way they could be diagnosing a case so similarly related to himself when he was right in front of them!

"Idiots! Get back to work on a _real_ case," he said gruffly as he shifted into position next to and slightly in front of Foreman.

"Respiratory arrest is likely caused by the head trauma," Chase replied without seeming to have noticed House's words.

"It could be from the swelling along his jaw too," replied Foreman, taking House's usual seat at the head of the table.

Completely baffled by both Chase's and Foreman's lack of response, House turned to look at Cameron. If he couldn't get the male species in the room to acknowledge his presence, he'd toy with the female until she responded.

"Are you going to let your little sex slave and his butt buddy ignore me like that?" asked House, looking for the buttons he knew would set Cameron's sights on his jugular any given day.

Cameron paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before she spoke. The arrogant grin began to curl at House's lips before it reached his eyes. He had her now. He knew there was no way she'd be able to ignore the little dig this time.

House's face fell instantaneously as her eyes glued themselves to Foreman as she spoke.

"They gave him mannitol already, so he should be waking up any time now," she said, pausing briefly to control her own concern before she continued. "But if he's stopped breathing because of the swelling in his jaw, mannitol won't help him. That's only good for brain swelling."

"…but they've given him an anti-inflammatory for the jaw swelling and he's still not breathing. For once, I'm glad Cuddy is over reacting."

Cuddy. It was the only name House needed to really let the fear he had been trying to suppress roll up and down his spine as if nimble fingers plucked an arpeggio up and down his vertebrae. He looked about the room, trying to take in anything that was unusual or out of place; the only thing he didn't want to see, however, was his white board. He was afraid he knew what it would say.

"What if he's got internal bleeding that's putting pressure on his lungs?" asked Chase, his accent thicker than usual.

"Or what if his ribs actually fractured and punctured his lungs?" replied Foreman in that all too familiar casual tone.

"The X-Ray would've picked up on that though," said Cameron with finality.

"Well, its either that or brain damage," said Foreman, "And I'd much rather like to believe its flail chest than a coma."

"You're all idiots!! Its not a damn coma!" shouted House in a blind flurry of frustration and comprehension. "For once, Chase is right! You're letting your patient bleed to death!"

No one in the room stirred as much as an inch. However, House suddenly felt his chest heaving with much effort. Every inhale became more and more painful. He leaned heavily on his cane, trying to balance himself as his panted.

It wasn't until he started wheezing that he felt as if something were blocking his airway completely. As the conference room around him started to swim, he glanced at his white board. A jolt of adrenaline ran through his system as he labored to breathe.

Written in Foreman's hurried scrawl with black dry erase marker was simply "House".

The pain in his lungs didn't ease as he slowly registered the steady beep of what he could only assume was a heart monitor as well as the soft whirring of what was obviously a ventilator. His eyes fluttered open and took in the soft moonlight that filled the room. Everything around him spoke of peace, except for the desperate plea for oxygen coming from his chest.

He tried to suck in a breath to relieve the ache and almost immediately began gagging. He tried to lift his right arm, immediately regretting the action as the 100+ stitches bit into his healing skin. He lowered his arm, eyes watering from lack of oxygen and gagged loudly on the tube hanging in his throat.

"House?"

The voice was soft, but he knew it belonged to Wilson before he could find his friend seated alongside his bed. He watched as the oncologist threw off his sleep filled mind as if he were removing a jacket and rose swiftly to his friend's side.

"Cough."

It was a firm command and House couldn't help but instinctively comply as Wilson removed the tape and slowly pulled the ventilator tube out from House's wind pipe. He coughed and gagged until the plastic apparatus was out of his body entirely. Only then did House gasp, inhaling as much of the sweet oxygen around him as he could into his body.

His jaw was on fire. Cautiously, House reached his left hand up to meet the side of his face, ignoring the protest from the weakened muscles around his shoulder. He noted his face was much more swollen than it had been before.

He carefully traced the puffy edge of what should've been his jaw line only stopping once he reached below his ear. The skin felt tight beneath his fingers as he lightly traced his fingers forward below his cheek bone. He realized the swelling was pretty much confined to the area just below his ear and directly alongside his jaw. At least that would explain the buzzing in his ear.

It was the uncomfortable silence that drew House's gaze to Wilson. He visibly grimaced with the look of concern mixing with relief that dripped from his friend's gaze. Obviously, something serious had happened. Waking up attached to a ventilator wasn't exactly something that happened due to a minor affliction.

House lowered his hand simultaneously with his gaze. He couldn't deal with Wilson's expression anymore. He licked his lips, mindful of holding his jaw as still as possible. It was only then that House realized that the wires in his mouth had been removed completely.

"What…?" he croaked, his voice raw from the tube aiding his breathing for…who knew how long. He let out a soft groan soon after as sensations from other parts of his body began to come forward. His shoulder, stomach, ribs and even his useless right leg were all throbbing in time with his heart. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

"You don't remember, do you?" asked Wilson, dragging his chair harshly against the hospital floor, causing House to wince at the sound.

Instead of returning to his seat, Wilson began looking around for the roll of medical bandage that had been sitting on his lap before he had jumped up at House's gagging. He leaned back to peer under the hospital bed. He leaned to his right and bent over slightly to pick it up before he returned to House's side.

A hand swatted weakly at his hands as Wilson set about wrapping House's jaw and head with the medical bandage.

"Stop it," grumbled House.

"No, you need to have your jaw held still," Wilson said in his professional voice as he continued about his job until he was satisfied that there were more layers than House could properly deal with right now around his head.

Wilson couldn't help himself. He had to ask.

"So, how do you feel?"

The question immediately earned the oncologist a scowl and a glare. However, House did give himself a quick once-over. Everything seemed to be the same except for a burning sensation in his stomach now in addition to a higher level of pain in general. He was a bit puzzled and Wilson's chuckle alerted him to the fact that he had let it show on his face.

House reacted quickly and talked remarkably well considering the bandage holding his jaw in place.

"I feel swell, Dad. Can I go outside and play now?"

"Not until you finish your vegetables," Wilson retorted.

House smirked a bit despite the incredibly corny comeback. His dream floated lazily back to him and a heavy sense of foreboding clung to his person. He knew he needed to find out what exactly had happened.

"So, you going to tell me why I woke up choking or do we have to play 20 questions?"

"You seriously don't remember what happened?" asked Wilson a little shocked.

Gears turned slowly through House's mind as he tried to pull up the last conscious memory he could. He vaguely remembered Cuddy visiting. He smirked as he thought of her more pleasing assets. However, his face fell a bit as he remembered that she had wanted to talk. He knew they needed to get rid of the tension between them; he secretly hoped she would act on it instead, but he didn't get his hopes up.

"The She-Devil wanted to talk," he said simply, avoiding his best friends gaze guiltily.

The nonchalance in House's voice was a little too forced and both doctors in the room knew it. Wilson glanced up, trying to lock his chocolate brown eyes onto House's baby blues. The diagnostician's rapt attention on the ceiling tiles above him, however, told Wilson to continue on with complications of the physical.

"You pulled out your stitches," he said slowly, "and we had to down your morphine because you didn't even feel it when you did that."

"Killjoy."

"Seriously, House, you pulled your internal stitches out too. You were hemorrhaging."

The concern and anxiety in Wilson's speech did not go unnoticed by House.

"How bad?" House asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"You lost 2 pints of blood in a matter of 2 minutes. I'm pretty sure that's a new record."

Even House had to admit that was pretty terrifying. At least it explained the sudden drop in blood pressure and the passing out. It still didn't explain the ventilator.

"Okay, I see. So you shoved a tube down my throat because I was bleeding out of my stomach. Makes perfect sense to me…"

"I didn't say you were bleeding out."

"Losing 2 pints of blood doesn't mean it stayed in!" House argued back sounding only half as angrily as he had intended. This damn jaw thing was going to be a huge blow to his reputation around here.

"You're incredible!" Wilson exclaimed as the irritation and impatience in his voice continued to rise. "You of all people should understand what happened, House! You bled _into your own body!_"

House tried not to smirk as he looked over to find Wilson pacing alongside his bed with his left hand behind his head. It was the classic Wilson's-irritated-and-won't-admit-its-getting-to-him stance. Glad to know some things around here were still running smoothly.

"And blood in the body is a problem how?" House snarked back.

He knew exactly how it had been a problem. Judging by the burning sensation in his stomach alone, he guessed the knick in his stomach inflicted by the dagger must've torn open. Of course, that could only mean blood building rapidly into his body, probably compressing his lungs and compromising his heart -- not to mention the acid in his stomach leaking out as well. It wasn't a pretty picture.

"Stop deflecting," Wilson finally mumbled after taking his seat as well as a few needed deep breaths. "Your level of indifference to almost dying is frankly disturbing."

"It wouldn't be the first time its happened, you know," replied the bed ridden doctor matter-of-factly.

Wilson sighed heavily before pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. House hadn't even been awake for five minutes and he had already managed to needle Wilson pretty well. How was he going to put up with weeks of this?

"So why the removal of the hardware?" House asked, baring his teeth to better make his point.

It was a question Wilson had not wanted to answer. He knew it was only a matter of time before it was asked.

"You were choking," he said, hoping House didn't push it any farther.

"On what? My own…"

House suddenly stopped speaking and shuddered, earning protests from every inch of his body. Of course he had been choking. If his stomach had been torn open as severely as it sounded it had, he had probably aspirated blood into his own lungs. That would definitely warrant the use of a ventilator.

"Alright, well, now that that's over with, let's get me out of here," said House as he attempted to sit up.

Wilson was quick to push House back down again, much to the dismay of his friend.

"You need to stay here for a few days and rest, House."

"But my hookers will worry if I'm not home."

Wilson rolled his eyes and kept his hand on House's shoulder. The tension beneath his hand signaled House's desire to sit up at any moment and start the whole game again.

"If you try to sit up again, I swear to God I'm cutting off your pain meds."

"That's just cruel," House replied glibly as he relaxed into the rather uncomfortable hospital bed. "Can I at least get out early for good behavior?"

"I doubt _you_ can."

"Ha. Ha." House replied dryly.

Wilson resigned himself to his chair and checked his wristwatch. It was only 11pm, but it felt as though it were 3am by the amount of energy he had already exerted. Leave it to House to suck everything out of everyone around him.

"She said she didn't hang up on me."

The statement was so sudden and so unexpected that Wilson floundered for a moment before he could think of only one thing to say.

"What?"

"Cuddy. She said she didn't hang up on me."

"You should talk to her."

"Don't you think I know that?" House spat with as much venom as his still jaw would allow.

The smirk on Wilson's face only earned him a glare that would've killed if it could. However, instead of fearing the evil eye, Wilson began to chuckle, making House that much more surly in the process.

"Don't make fun of the cripple."

Wilson smiled earnestly as House rolled his eyes and resumed his interest in the plain white ceiling tiles.

"You need to talk to her."

"_I know_."

House groaned as the intensity with which he had spoken aggravated his stomach. Fortunately, the pain wasn't horrible. Then again, he couldn't be too sure. He had noticed earlier that he was still on a morphine drip. He was very grateful that it was taking off the edge.

"Why don't you get some sleep?"

House nodded, more out of his desire to be alone with his thoughts than for the actual need to sleep. He glanced at Wilson out of the corner of his eye and saw his friend nod slightly and start to leave.

As the glass sliding door whooshed closed, House relaxed for the first time in -- to be honest, he didn't know how long. His body was battered and bruised. His ego was slightly deflated and his feelings for Cuddy were…

He didn't want to go there right now. With sudden determination, House closed his eyes and willed sleep to take over him. If he could escape Cuddy on a daily basis by harassing her, he could escape his feelings for her by sleeping.

A minute later, he heard the whoosh of the slider door to his room open and close. He peeked his right eye open and dared a glance.

There, standing in the moonlight, looking absolutely ethereal was the woman he was trying not to think about. He sighed with annoyance as the rhythm of his heart increased only to be amplified by the beeping of the monitor. There was no way he was getting out of this now.

"I know you're awake."

House opened his eyes and turned to look at Cuddy without picking his head up off the pillow. The moonlight accentuated her cheekbones and gave her face a heavenly glow. Even her eyes seemed much more crystalline with the softness of the moon. House cursed his heart monitor as it betrayed his increase in heart rate yet again. He practically melted as she smiled at him.

"Don't worry. I won't ask how you feel."

He smiled at her in return, fighting off the urge to chuckle. Leave it to Cuddy to try to ease the tension out of the situation.

"House…"

"I know, Lisa. We need to talk."

She nodded and slowly reached out to cover his hand with hers. The contact of her cool skin against his warm hand comforted him. He could feel his emotional half of his brain starting to win out over its logical counterpart. It terrified him as much as it pleased him.

"I figured it'd be easier to talk while you couldn't escape."

House smiled a bit, thankful for her attempts at making this painfully awkwardly conversation a little easier.

"What was your answer?"

He blinked lazily and turned his hand so they could intertwine fingers slightly as they spoke.

"What do you mean?"

They both knew they hadn't missed the meaning of his words.

"You said you didn't hang up. What happened?"

"Chase's phone died before I had a chance to…"

Cuddy let her voice trail off, a shy blush starting to spread across her cheeks. She felt like she was in middle school all over with her first little crush. She took in a slow, steady breath. It did little to soothe her nerves.

"Yes."

House froze, the heart monitor beginning to run a marathon right along side his heart. He silently cursed the machine for giving away his excitement.

"Yes, you will sleep with me tonight? Or yes, I'll sleep with you right here, right now?"

Cuddy lightly smacked his arm with her free hand. She feigned anger, but House read right through the smile hiding in her eyes. It was hard to keep up the banter when they were so close to getting to the bottom of this.

House pursed his lips, trying to gain the courage to ask her the one question that threatened to burn its way out of his chest.

"Gregory House, I think I'm falling for you."

Cuddy couldn't catch his eyes. Her cheeks were burning fiercely and she prayed the lack of light in the room helped to conceal her embarrassment. She could feel House's eyes boring into her and it was only a matter of seconds before she let herself get lost in the depths of his electric blue eyes.

"I know," he said as softly as he could. The hint of smugness still stuck to his tongue as he let the phrase fall from his lips, but he allowed himself to rub his thumb over the top of her hand as he spoke regardless.

"Tell me you don't feel the same," she said almost pleadingly as she began to lean forward.

"I…can't," he said, shrugging his right shoulder in a noncommittal way. He had hoped it would help hide the depths of his feelings, but he knew Cuddy would see right through it.

Cuddy stood up, leaning over House as he lay there with more injuries than she had hoped he would ever sustain. She allowed her free hand to push his now slightly greasy hair off his forehead while she studied his eyes.

"You need to rest," she said, knowing they had said as much as they could about things for now.

He nodded slightly, relishing the feel of her hand running through his hair. What happened next was completely unexpected by the diagnostician and it had ended just as suddenly as it had started.

With great care not to put too much pressure on his already sore jaw, Cuddy leaned in and kissed House softly on the lips.

The clacking of her heels echoed down the hallway even after the sliding door to House's private room had been shut. His mind was somewhat in a daze, trying to get over the shock of what had just happened. Deciding not to analyze it to death for the first time in his life, House closed his eyes and let a smile curl contentedly on his features. He fell into a deep, much needed sleep for the first time in days.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Another chapter...and one without a cliff hanger! I hope you're all enjoying this. Please let me know what you think! I really appreciate it!!

xoTrebleMaker


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** House isn't my character. Yadda, yadda, yadda. READ!

**[H] [H] [H]**

The elevator hummed softly as the doctor contained within let out a breath containing all of her frustration. Of all the rotten luck, why did _she_ literally have to pull the short straw on this one? It was a childish way to determine the victim, but the team had decided that it was the only unbiased way to complete the mission Wilson had discreetly assigned them. With an obnoxiously fake bell tone, the elevator stopped abruptly and the doors slid open.

Hurried footsteps met Cameron as she rounded the corner to visit her boss for lunch. She had heard the sliding door slam as she was getting off the elevator and huffed hoping it wasn't coming from the farthest room down the hallway to the left. She wasn't surprised, though, as yet another nurse stormed past her, red in the face and frantic with anger. She was obviously leaving House's private room. She only hoped House would be in a better mood now he had thoroughly pissed off the 2nd nurse in two days. At least his record was perfect.

Slowly, Cameron's pace became more hesitant as she made her way down the hallway. She knew House would be ready and raring to go once she walked through the door; it would be no different than if he were up a floor and sitting at his desk.

She paused just outside his door and took a calming breath. The Wendy's cup in her hand shook a little with her nerves. Wilson had visited the surly man inside earlier, bearing three different flavors of ensure, four different kinds of protein shake and even an instant breakfast mix after House had thrown his usual temper tantrum over the hospital's "delicacies". Naturally, the stubborn diagnostician had dismissed each offering as "for the chronically age challenged", "for idiots with bigger muscles than brains", and "for those on strike against eggs and bacon" respectively.

The cup Cameron held now only outwardly appeared to be a chocolate shake from the fast food franchise across the street from PPTH. Inside, however, was a chocolate ensure chilled to perfection and blended with one scoop of ice cream to get the texture somewhat closer to what a milkshake should be like. Cameron hoped he wouldn't notice too much of a difference and would at least get some nutrients into his system before he realized he had been tricked.

Throwing off her fear and nerves, Cameron walked into House's room with a big smile on her face. However, her pleasant face fell flat as she realized House's bed was empty.

"House?" she asked, tentatively. She glanced around the room and noticed the light was on in his private bathroom in the corner. It was only after that discovery that she allowed her nerves to settle a bit; he still shouldn't have been out of bed though.

She treaded over to his bed and placed the "milk shake" on the tray that food services had brought to him earlier. She wrinkled her nose at the lunch that had been brought up to him. Even she wouldn't have been interested in beef broth, milk and apple juice all in one sitting.

The combination of all 3 fragrances caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably. However, it was the noise coming from the bathroom that startled her. It sounded like someone had dropped something.

Cameron rushed over to the bathroom and peeked into the room via the crack between the door frame and the door. She could see House's figure facing the sink and she looked at the ground as she raised her hand to the door and knocked softly.

"House?" she asked, loud enough to be heard over running water.

"Ugh. Not you now. Go away!" he yelled through his teeth in mock disgust.

Truth be told, House was glad to have someone from his team visiting. It gave him a chance to go against Cuddy's strict rule that he was not allowed to solve another case until he had been discharged from his prison. He smirked a bit, feeling the wrappings around his jaw holding tight, instantly breaking his reverie. He needed to get this damn thing off.

"Can I come in?"

House gripped the sink with his left hand to support himself; refusing to put any pressure on his right arm as it was already throbbing fiercely, House eased his weight off his right leg that was starting to yell at him now too for standing so long. He avoided looking in the mirror as he adjusted his stance; after using the toilet, checking the damage with his own eyes was next on his to do list. He just didn't want to see it yet.

"Trying to get me alone?" he countered without even thinking.

He glanced down, trying to find the hospital cane they had given him. He had heard it land somewhere to his right and was certain Cameron had heard it on her way into his room. It hadn't exactly been quiet. He twisted his back awkwardly, catching a glimpse of it somewhere behind him and slightly to the right as he heard Cameron laugh quietly outside the door.

"No," she said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes, "I came here to bring you your lunch."

House smirked hearing the annoyance in her voice. He was also happy to hear an acceptable lunch awaited him. That slop in a cup out on the tray in his room barely passed as edible.

"I'll be out in a minute," he said not wanting to ask for help. Seeing no way to grab the four-legged gimp stick off the floor, House decided to use the rolling stand his IV was attached to as a makeshift cane. At least it looked cooler.

As he gripped the cool metal in his hand, House took in the slew of tools he had taken with him to try to cut through the bandage around his head. They littered the ground around him almost in tribute to his valiant attempts at removing the annoying white wrapping that held his jaw in place.

He admired a dropped a pair of scissors, too dull to cut anything anyways; a plastic butter knife, courtesy of food services, now snapped in two; as well as a pen, now bent awkwardly in his feeble attempt to pry the band away from his skull. Nothing had worked. Wilson had obviously wrapped many more layers than necessary around his injury predicting his childish behavior. He hated how well his best friend knew him.

He picked his way carefully around the debris on the floor, deciding to let one of his lackeys or Dave, the janitor that wore his pants backwards, take care of the mess later. He shouldn't have been out of bed in the first place, so bending over to pick up his mess was obviously a no-no too.

Cameron started as the door flung open and the bruised face of House appeared before her. She felt her heart beat quicken a bit as he had startled her. However, she felt anxiety run rampant through her system as she realized she now had to get House to eat his lunch without him noticing that it definitely wasn't a milkshake.

"What?" House asked, looking down at her, "Something on my face?"

Cameron smirked a bit as she walked towards his bed, motioning for him to get back where he belonged. She didn't give him the pleasure of a response. She knew he was only asking her such a question because he had blatantly startled her.

Wheels squeaked loudly as House limped towards his bed, ignoring the ache in his leg and the throbbing of his shoulder as he dragged his IV with him in tandem.

After a little effort, some help from Cameron and lots of glaring and cussing from House, the doctor was back in his bed and resting somewhat comfortably against his pillows. He grimaced a bit and run his right hand gingerly over the stitches on his stomach. Internally, he was healing rather nicely. Externally, it was healing nicely, but taking its sweet time. He couldn't wait for the stitches to come out.

"So, where's my calcium rich lunch?" he asked. The calcium dig was a veiled attempt to justify his choice of nutrition.

Cameron rolled her eyes and inched the Wendy's cup closer to House. She swallowed nervously as he grasped it in his own hands and raised the straw, already in the top courtesy of Cameron, to his mouth and began to enjoy his milkshake.

However, House's exuberant expression began to crumble away as the first taste of his drink washed over him. He paused a moment and swallowed, eyeing the Wendy's cup suspiciously before taking another sip. His brows furrowed and he looked up at Cameron with his head slightly to the side.

The tilt of his head said volumes more than Cameron could have ever heard him actually say. She knew that look. It was the cocky tilt of the head and the knowing look in House's eyes as he solved his puzzle. She knew that he _knew_.

"At least Wilson threw in a scoop of ice cream for me," he said with a slight hint of defeat in the amused tone of his voice.

A practiced look of confusion and misunderstanding crossed Cameron's features. This was exactly the moment she had been dreading.

"You can stop pretending now," said House between slurping noises, "I can tell the difference between a milkshake and a frozen drink meant for something 5 times my age."

"That would make whoever the target market is impossibly old," she said with annoyance.

House rolled his eyes and grimaced as the taste of his "milkshake" became more and more like the nutrient rich product that he abhorred so much. Yes, he would definitely make Wilson pay for this one.

"So how'd you get stuck giving me this thing?" House asked, putting the half finished container down on his tray as he spoke, "Lose just one too many rounds of rock, paper, scissors?"

Cameron let out a breath, realizing House wasn't upset with her. "Actually, I pulled the short straw. And for the record, I told him this wasn't going to work."

Swallowing thickly, House tried a different line of thought hoping to catch his minion off guard, "So! Don't keep me in suspense! What idiot is dying this week?"

"No one," said Cameron, obviously lying through her teeth, "We don't have a case right now."

Their eyes met and the battle raged on before Cameron had a chance to put up her guard at all.

"Right," House began, "and you and Chase _aren't_ trying to have sex in each and every room in this hospital."

The anger on Cameron's face made House's eyes glitter with glee and triumph. Sometimes getting the best of her was just too easy.

"Do you want us to come down here and give you a show of it?" she asked, feeling cornered.

"I'd really rather show how Chase isn't satisfying you instead," he said as innocently as he could.

Cameron was visibly shaking with rage at this point. House sucked the last bits of his lunch through his straw. The obnoxious gurgling noise coming through the end of the straw reverberated through the cup and made Cameron grit her teeth. She was entirely certain that he had perfected his techniques of immature annoyance in his brief time here.

She snatched the cup away from him, leaving the straw in his mouth as she got up. He continued to inhale through the straw, making a quieter version of the slurping noise he had been making earlier.

"Get over yourself," she said with finality as she stormed out of the room.

House smirked as she left his room. His final tally had gone up to four nurses and one minion now. Yes, indeed it had been a very productive week.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A few days passed, leaving floor 4 severely understaffed thanks to House's ability to irritate each and every unfortunate individual that walked into his room. He was on a winning streak and he was not about to stop. It was day six of his stay and so far, ten nurses had left his room with the steam practically pouring out of their heads. He loved this game too much now.

House sat impatiently at the edge of his bed, torn between wanting to get up and finally inspect his face in the mirror and sticking around to make sure he could pounce on whoever was holding his discharge papers. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

Not hearing any footsteps coming down the hall, House hobbled his way over to the bathroom and turned on the light. He took a calming breath before he stepped into the tiny bathroom again and braved a look in the mirror.

The initial glance was much easier than he thought it was going to be. He noted immediately that his visage was paler than normal and that parts of his face had colors that shouldn't be there, but all in all, he looked decent.

There were shadows under his eyes. He attributed the depths of them to his interrupted nights of sleep in the hospital. It always seemed that one annoying nurse or another would walk into his room just as he was hitting his REM cycle. A combination of his body using all his energy on healing in addition to the lack of deep sleep was definitely showing on his face.

He turned his gaze to the brownish-yellow bruise on the left side of his jaw. He knew most of it was hidden behind the white bandage that surrounded his jaw, but he was happy to see that it wasn't green and purple anymore as had been indicated by his medical chart. A healing bruise was the sign of a healing bone. Maybe he'd be able to get the bandage off sooner rather than later.

Experimentally, House flicked the lights off and on in the bathroom, staring himself down in the mirror. He watched his pupils for any abnormal reaction to the light. He was pleased to see that his eyes were behaving properly. He still had a mild headache, but at least his concussion was healing nicely as well. All in all, he seemed to be ok.

"Are you done admiring yourself yet, or do you need a minute?"

Wilson's voice made House jump a bit. He had been so involved in checking out his injuries that he hadn't even heard the man enter his room. He scowled a Wilson a bit before eyeing the papers in his hand instead.

"They setting me free?" he asked with the hope in his voice all too apparent.

"Yes," said Wilson, walking towards the chair next to the bed, "They want you out of here as soon as possible so they can put the nurses back on the floors they belong to."

House smiled mischievously as he snatched his release forms from Wilson and sat down on his bed. He snapped his fingers and motioned for Wilson to throw him a pen so he could apply his John Hancock to the appropriate lines to get himself out of his prison. He grimaced slightly as his right arm twitched under the strain of all the stitches.

"You want me to forge that for you?" asked Wilson, seriously offering to sign the papers for House.

"And take away the only fun I've had all week?" Scoffed House incredulously, "Yea, right."

Wilson just shook his head, not taking the bait. They both knew House had been terrorizing everyone within earshot of his room. It was the only way House knew how to occupy himself.

Wilson waited patiently as House struggled to sign his release forms and before either doctor knew what had happened, the oncologist was pushing the diagnostician in a wheel chair to the elevator. Of course, House wasn't sitting there quietly.

"You know, I could just _walk_ out of here like I do every other day," he began, knowing he was not going to win this argument.

Wilson just pursed his lips and ignored him. The frustration on House's face increased and it took all Wilson had to neither respond nor laugh. It was far too much fun to beat House at his own games, especially if you were using his own rules against him.

"So are you just going to ignore me all the way to the lobby?"

Wilson remained silent, watching House squirm in the wheelchair. He silently hoped that maybe he would start to think he was mad. The elevator slowly descended and as the doors opened, so did House's lips.

"HELP! RAPE! I NEED AN ADULT!"

It was a muffled cry for help, but House did manage to gather much of the attention of the staff as well as a few innocent bystanders that were torn between looking at the man crying for help and the man behind the wheel chair.

"That's not what your mom said," responded Wilson under his breath.

"Oh, ha, ha," replied House, rolling his eyes. He tried not to let the relief show on his face. He had thought Wilson was upset with him.

Cold air rushed up to meet House and Wilson as the doors to the hospital opened wide. Although it was nippy, House couldn't help but relish in the fresh air as it hit him. There was nothing like real air after being contained within sterile hospital air for nearly a week.

Wilson handed House his cane as they reached his car. The confusion on House's face was obvious as the oncologist opened the door for him.

"Did you honestly think I'd let you drive home?"

"Well, yea. I mean, how else were _both_ of our cars going to get out of the parking lot?"

"I'll come back later for it."

"And how are you going to get here? My bike?"

"Obviously."

House rolled his eyes, once again seeing that he wasn't going to win the argument, and resorted to sulking in the passenger side of Wilson's car.

The car ride to House's apartment passed without speaking. It was an easy silence, though. Neither party needed to say anything. It was only as Wilson and House left the car and trekked slowly to House's apartment door that either of them spoke.

"Ok, so here's the plan," began Wilson as House unlocked his front door, "You have fifteen minutes to pack enough clothes for a week. Then we're going to my place."

However, House wasn't paying attention to Wilson. He was much more interested in the large envelope that rested against the bottom of his door. He bent over slowly and picked it up, all the while noting Wilson's concerned look as he moved about much more than he should've with his healing stomach injury.

A very distinct hand writing scrawled across the front of the envelope. House's brow furrowed caught between confusion and intrigue. He didn't know the hand writing, but it was clearly addressed to him. It was also clearly sent to his apartment. No one knew his address other than his colleague at work. He figured it was just a prank from one of his team and he brought the envelope into his House with him.

"Did you hear a word I just said?" asked Wilson already heading towards House's room to start packing for him. The answer was all to obvious by the interest House was showing over that envelope.

"Of course I didn't," he replied as he reached up and hooked his cane to the moulding of the archway above him. He poked his finger under the flap of the envelope and began to tear it open.

Wilson tossed clothes haphazardly into a duffel bag and inspected House's bedroom for anything else he may need for a the few days stay at his place. He mentally noted that this would be so much easier if they were roommates. They practically lived together already what with the way House would frequently show up at Wilson's place and refuse to leave for days on end.

A smile played across Wilson's face at the joy of his friend getting back to his old self as he zipped up the duffle bag and entered the living room again.

"I got your clothes, but you'll probably need--"

His words died on his lips as he took in the haggard state of House's face. Fear, shock, disgust, terror. It was all there. He was sure House's mouth would've been hanging open if it weren't for the bandage around his head.

"House?"

Wilson tentatively took a few steps towards House, noting that he hadn't moved a muscle since Wilson entered the room. Something was definitely wrong. It was only as Wilson came within a few inches of House that he began to wobble a little; his leg was beginning to give out on him.

Wilson took the pack of whatever he had been holding out of his hands and lead him over to the couch. It was only after House was sitting down and safe that Wilson took a look at what he had been holding.

His face blanched immediately as he realized what had made House freeze moments ago. In Wilson's hands were black and white images. Each photograph more gruesome than the last until finally, Wilson dropped the photos and let them scatter across the floor.

Someone had sent pictures of House's torment to his own doorstep.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: DUN, DUN, DUUUUUNNNNNNN!!! I know, a semi cliffhanger. Sorry! In any event, thanks again for continuing to stick with me through this story! I hope you're all still enjoying it. Please REVIEW! Thanks!!

xoTrebleMaker


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House, but you knew that already...

**[H] [H] [H]**

Wilson sat perched on the coffee table opposite House. He watched his friend's eyes flicker erratically amongst feelings of shock, horror and disgust as his two day nightmare came back to him.

The oncologist's own head was swimming with possibilities at the sudden arrival of the photographs that now lay scattered across House's apartment floor. He didn't know how they had gotten there. Obviously, the envelope lying on the floor indicated someone had mailed them to House, but it couldn't have been Eric. He was in police custody.

Then there were the black and whites, strewn haphazardly on the floor, themselves. He glanced down, catching a particularly brutal photograph in which House was curled in on himself, holding his jaw. The expression on his features was so complex and conflicted that Wilson experienced them as if he were the character within the photograph. It would've been an extremely powerful piece of art if it hadn't been for the fact that it wasn't a model in a photo shoot, but a real human being in severe pain.

The oncologist picked the photograph up from the floor and placed it face down next him on the coffee table. It helped to quell the flow of his thought process.

He knew House had lived through an ordeal; that had been obvious just by his physical appearance the day that they found and retrieved him. However, to see the photos and all the emotional damage put the situation into an entirely new and horrifying perspective.

"_How much does he have to live though in this life?"_ Wilson thought to himself.

The vein, Wilson noticed, in House's throat pulsed quickly, keeping pace with his racing heart. Wilson watched as House's breathing quickened with his heart and soon became a shallow panting. Wilson sighed, taking in the symptoms, and knew House was suffering through a panic attack.

"House?"

He spoke softly, trying not to startle House and make his obvious anxiety that much worse. When House's eyes met his, but he didn't speak, Wilson found his own anxiety level climbing. However, it was an overwhelming sense of pity that Wilson felt as House slowly closed his eyes and looked away.

Childhood memories flooded the diagnostician's mind and the sudden shock of them, in addition to the photographs that now gazed up at him from the floor, was overwhelming. The twisted morality of his father had been trying to pierce his thoughts since he had woken up the second time in the hospital. All the infuriated nursing staff (and even the sharp comments thrown at Cameron) were a direct result of his attempts to avoid falling into deep thought about his hellish past.

House could feel Wilson's gaze still trying to worm its way into his thought process. He knew that as soon as he turned, the concern pooling within Wilson's eyes would hit him in full. The wave of concerned empathy would crash over him and cause him to crack and probably -- he shuddered internally at this -- share his _feelings_; however, House also knew that there would be a sliver of pity floating somewhere within the sea of emotions as well. A new force started to slowly twist its way into House's own emotions, causing the storm already brewing in his mind to become a full fledged tempest.

He needed to be alone with his thoughts and he needed the solitude now.

"Get out."

Wilson started, taken aback by the suddenness of House's harsh tone. He knew the pictures were to blame.

"Excuse me?"

Electric blue met chocolate brown as House threw daggers with his stare. The diagnostician couldn't stand the bewildered expression on his best friend's face. He knew he was more or less taking a sledge hammer to their already bizarre friendship, but he needed to challenge his feelings head on…and he needed to do it alone.

House snapped as best he could through his jaw still immobilized by the bandage, "I said: 'Get. Out.' "

House moved his head slightly, but it was his sideways glance from beneath his guilty brow that allowed him to see the bewilderment that had splashed across Wilson's face. It was obvious that his words were stinging, but House didn't care. He needed the solace that only the quiet of his empty apartment could provide.

"You sure you don't want to talk a-"

"Did I stutter? _Get. Out!_"

It wasn't until his cane nudged his arm that he even realized Wilson had moved from his perch upon the coffee table. House didn't look up at his friend as he hovered for a moment, hoping he would take his words back.

Seeing the effort it was taking the diagnostician to avoid his gaze as well as to keep a stoic face, Wilson conceded and headed to the door.

He paused for a moment, checking House's surroundings to make sure he would be alright for the brief time that he would be out. Satisfied that he wouldn't be able to do any serious damage, Wilson shut the door to House's apartment and was immediately bitten by the frosty cold of winter.

As he walked down the narrow walkway towards his car, he made a check list in his head of all the things he would need to pick up at his new apartment. A flurry of snow stuck to his hair and whisked along his cheeks as he chuckled darkly. He had been excited to share his new apartment with House for the week. He had even purchased a couch with hidden recliners in it just for the comfort of his friend! Leave it to House to wreck his carefully laid plans.

With a swift click of an automatic lock, Wilson shook off the light dusting off snow from his head and slid his way into his car. With a jangling of keys and a swift turn, the car purred to life, blowing hot air against the windshield and its passenger. Wilson hesitated, glancing at House's apartment, before shifting his car into gear and driving cautiously through the increasing snowfall to his home.

**[H] [H] [H]**

_Large snow flakes fell to the ground as a 16 year old Greg House stood in by the window of his home. His mother had long since fallen asleep on the couch with a bottle of whiskey nearby. Now, with his homework complete for class the next day, Greg knew he had to shovel the snow from the driveway or there would be consequences. He moved swiftly to the couch first, however, and placed a blanket over the woman sleeping on it. With a soft kiss to her forehead, he strode to his jacket hanging next to the door and was outside in a flash._

_Greg checked his watch. It was 5:10 and his father would be home promptly at 5:30 like he was every other day. He trudged over to the garage and heaved the door open in search of the shovel. He found the object resting against the wall closest to himself in the corner and sighed in relief. At least he'd be able to get started. Maybe then he wouldn't be forced to stay outside all night to "finish a task, for once."_

_Greg shuffled his feet out to the end of the driveway and began to shovel. He noted immediately that the snow was heavy and wet; he smirked, thinking of all the snowball fights he would be getting himself into on the way home from school tomorrow. _

_Lost in a snowball fight fantasy, the strain of shoveling barely registered in the boy's muscles. He worked as thoroughly as possible at the quick pace he held. He knew that it would be better to uncover more of the driveway than to do a small section exceedingly well at this point. A white mist issued from his mouth with every breath. His exertion was beginning to make him pant._

_With the sound of plastic scraping against tar, Greg threw his last pile of snow to the wayside. Placing the scoop of the shovel against the ground, Greg leaned against the handle and breathed a sigh of relief. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling awfully restricted in his winter jacket now that his physical task was completed._

_His self satisfied smile fell from his face as the familiar blue station wagon pulled down the street and eased its way into the driveway. John House had returned home to his family._

_Greg straightened himself as his father opened the car door and began to pull himself out. His father was almost always in the worst mood of the day directly after coming home from work._

_The car door shut with a soft thump as John scanned the driveway, now lightly dusted with snow as opposed to heavily covered. He observed the piles of snow, neatly made alongside the driveway where his son had deposited the useless powder getting in the way._

"_You did this, son?" asked John._

"_Yes, sir," he replied, turning towards the garage to place the shovel exactly where he had found it. He knew John would be scrutinizing his work and he hoped he didn't slip up and forget to do something this time._

_He turned around, sliding the garage door shut as he watched his father. The man looked pleased as he scanned the driveway. Nothing seemed to have been overlooked._

"_Well, son," he began, walking with authority towards Greg, "you did a fine job this time."_

"_Thank you, sir."_

_Greg felt his father thump him on the back in appreciation and he stiffened. His father rarely showed gratitude for anything. It was always something to be expected, never something that needed thanking. It was then that Greg knew he had missed something._

"_Oh, and son?" cued John as he began his assent up the snow covered stairs to his house._

"_Yes, sir?" replied Greg, knowing the friendliness was about to come crashing down._

"_Next time, you need to do the steps and walkway in front of the steps as well," he said shaking the snow off his work shoes to emphasize his point, "I think you should stay out here and clear those. Oh and while you're at it, you can clear the driveway again. Its awfully messy, don't you think?"_

_Greg froze and surveyed the driveway he had just cleared. In the three minutes his father had been home, no more than a light dusting had covered the tar._

"_Sir, I don't mean to challenge your request, but-"_

_The features on John House's face became as hard as stone as his son spoke. Greg knew that he was essentially digging his grave, as he did every time, but he couldn't help but feel compelled to speak. It wasn't that he hadn't tried. He was just tired of his father's oversensitive ideals of morality and doing the right thing ending up as a punishment for himself._

"_Well?"_

"_Sir, its still snowing outside. Do you honestly expect me to clear the snow from the driveway again? It'll only keep getting covered until it stop snowing!"_

_The fire blazing behind his father's eyes was exactly what he had feared to see. Greg knew he had asked for it by opening his mouth, but he also knew that he was right. He was tired of not standing his ground._

"_Well, then maybe you should just stay out here until it _does _stop snowing. In fact, why don't you do that for me?"_

_Greg stood there clenching his jaw in strict refusal of letting any emotion show on his face. This was part of the game and he knew it. If he showed any sort of upset or defeat, something more would be added to the already unfair punishment._

"_Oh and don't forget to clear _all_ of the snow next time."_

_It was the last thing his father said as he entered his home and closed the door behind him. Even above the wind that was beginning to blow, Greg could still hear the clicking and popping of the two locks on the door sliding into place. No doubt he would work his way to the back of the house and lock that door as well._

_With a sense of finality, Greg strode over to the garage, opened the door and let himself inside. It was only after he had turned on the overhead light that he closed the door behind him and shivered. It was going to be a long cold night._

**[H] [H] [H]**

Pain along House's jaw alerted him to the fact that he had been clenching his teeth while on his own little journey through mental hell. He slowly unclenched his jaw muscles, relishing in the aching relief that it brought.

His eyes stung and he knew that if he were to get up and hobble his way over to the bathroom that he would see his eyes shining with unshed tears. He hated himself for it, but he hated the fact that his father had conditioned him to hate it even more.

Hate and despair rolled through him and conquered his mind, directing his thoughts to every flaw he had.

He hated the weakness he felt when his emotions conquered his logical mind. He threw his left fist down hard upon the coffee table in frustration before leaning forward and grasping his head firmly in both of his hands. The tension inside his head now was more than just the remnants of his healing concussion.

He needed to let it out. He needed to scream or to yell or something, but his pride and conditioning from his childhood wouldn't let him. To give in to his emotions was admitting defeat and admitting defeat was admitting that he, once again, wasn't good enough.

He felt the hot tears burning down his cheeks before he realized he was crying; he cursed under his breath, not certain if the tears were from frustration, defeat or even exhaustion at this point. A bitterness welled up inside him that threatened to strangle him if he didn't get himself in check. Oh, how he hated himself right now for falling apart. He could handle this. He had always had to be able to handle it, so he could now too.

Positioning his cane by his right foot, House pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over to his baby grand. As he settled onto his piano bench, he allowed his fingers to lightly touch the ivory keys and a bitter smile crossed his features. Even his piano, the most trusted of all his friends at times like this, was betraying him.

He took in a deep breath and began to play Sonata 14 in C minor, more commonly known as Moonlight Sonata, composed by Beethoven.

His left hand stretched, easily covering the required octave in the bass as he closed his eyes. His right hand danced lightly over the black and white keys, rolling arpeggios of the dark and dreary persuasion. All of his anguish and malice poured into the keys as he played, adding to the heaviness in the room and in his mind.

He flinched slightly as his mind drifted back once again.

"_Greg, that's beautiful," Blythe chirped as she watched her son playing the dusty old upright piano sitting against the farthest wall in his living room._

_He smiled softly, relishing in the soft comfort of a compliment that his mother had given him, as he continued to play._

_His fingers danced lightly over the keys even as the doorbell rang. Greg hesitated for a moment, leaving the piece hesitating painfully on a dominant chord, as his mother answered the door._

_With a huge sigh of relief, Greg sees that its only his neighbor -- and his mother's friend -- Lucy and turns back to the keys. However, instead of continuing the piece, he jumps into Moonlight Sonata -- his mother's favorite._

_He can hear the contented sigh before he feels her hands on his shoulders. Her hands rub gently, encouraging him to play. However, the front door slams open and Greg turns his head, knowing full well who has come in the door this time._

_His mother pushes her friend into the kitchen and instructs her to go out the backdoor. The soft click coming from the kitchen indicates that their guest has left._

"_Are you letting _him_ touch that _thing_ again?" he barked._

_John's strides thudded throughout the room as he came next to his wife, Blythe. He shoved her harshly, forcing her to stagger back into the kitchen._

"_John, honey," she begins trying to save her son, "Its only music! He's so talented!"_

_Greg knows immediately that it's the wrong thing to say. There's a crash and a clanging of keys as House yells in pain. John House smiles, holding the flip cover of the piano down upon his son's hands. Greg's eyes water and the pain is so great that he knows he's broken his hand._

"_I guess he won't be playing for a while, now will he?"_

The silence in the apartment startles House and he realizes that he's holding his left gingerly hand in his right. His father actually _had_ broken his hand that day using the instrument he loved so much against him.

A largely dissonant chord fills his apartment as House crashes a fist onto the keys of his piano in fury. Even his piano, the one thing that usually brings solitude, has turned against him.

Absentmindedly, House rubs at the indentation in his right leg where part of his quad muscle should be and laughs bitterly. Words echo through his memory.

"_Some son you turned out to be. Who wants to be treated by a doctor that couldn't even save himself?"_

A grimace crosses House's features and he closes his eyes, trying to block out that particular memory. Even through all the physical abuse and torture his father had put him through, it was still that one sentence that plagued him the most.

If only he had realized what was happening to himself those years ago, he wouldn't be the disabled doctor hiding from the patients in the clinic. He wouldn't have to deal with the cloud of uncertainty that followed him every waking second.

He would inwardly squirm every time Cuddy forced him to do clinic hours. He could almost feel the judgmental eyes upon him as each snot nosed child with its over protective mother took in the cane. His sharp wit and sarcasm were his only defense. Everyone knew that.

Suddenly, House wished he hadn't pushed Wilson away. The realization only added to the pent up rage and confusion burning its way through his system. He furrowed his brow and realized that he needed a verbal sparring partner right now. His mind and tongue were itching for the distraction.

Taking his cellphone from his pocket, House adeptly flipped it open with his right hand. He trailed his thumb over the keypad, debating whether or not he should press and hold the number 5 to start the call.

"_Hello?"_

It was only after he heard her voice that he realized he had called her.

"Hi there, Cuddles. Miss me?" he asked in a much surlier tone than he intended.

There was a sigh on the other end before she spoke, _"House, what do you want now?"_

He paused. What did he want from her? He had initially called her to argue and bicker to relieve tension, but her question was loaded and they both knew it. He smirked, quickly falling into the routine.

"I was hoping you and the girls could come over and keep me and Little Greg company for a while," he drawled.

He heard the chuckle before she spoke, _"Uh huh. Nice try, House. Now, either hang up and rest or tell me why you called!"_

House noted the worry in her voice and had to hold his tongue to keep from snarking back his remarks about her mothering him. He didn't want to fall into old patterns so quickly. After all, they had talked briefly about their…_feelings_…and he didn't want to slip backwards.

He huffed a bit.

"My father was an unruly bastard," he said simply. His voice was dripping with loathing and reproach that he knew Cuddy wouldn't miss.

"_You called me to talk about your father?"_

"No, I called you because I kicked Wilson out of my apartment and I'm bored," he replied. It was halfway true. He had kicked Wilson out of the apartment, but he wasn't bored. He was scared of what he would do to himself with his mind in shambles.

He could hear Cuddy taking deep breaths on her end of the conversation and he had to suppress the urge to laugh. An image of Cuddy pinching the bridge of her nose, very much the same way Wilson did in these type of situations, suddenly popped into his head.

"_House…"_

He cringed a little at her tone. It was her warning voice.

"Cuddy," he replied in kind as he built up the nerve to continue, "What have I ever told you about my father?"

"_That his name was John."_

House smirked a bit realizing that it was all he had ever said about his father to anyone other than his mother. He hated the man bitterly.

"Well, you know I was an army brat," he started.

"_I knew you were a brat of some sort."_

He chuckled a bit at the way she countered his statement and was grateful that she was trying to make this easier for him.

"My father was a Marine. A pilot actually," he continued, knowing Cuddy was listening politely and still irritated by his out of the blue call.

"Would you believe me if I told you he was abusive?"

The silence on Cuddy's end of the line hurt House's ears. He could almost hear her thinking of a way to respond properly.

"…_wait, what?"_

House sucked in a breath through his nose and resisted the urge to tighten the muscles in his jaw to steady himself.

"He was an abusive bastard," he replied feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders.

"_Are you trying to tell me that you were abused as a child?"_

House's blood ran cold as the weight of her words hit him. He had never told anyone about this before…ever. To hear someone else give a name to the way his father had treated him until he left for college was frightening.

"I guess so," he said honestly.

There was an awkward pause as neither House nor Cuddy really knew what to say.

"_Thank you."_

House wrinkled his eyebrows together in confusion while he responded, "For what?"

"_For trusting me. For _opening up_ to me."_

He rolled his eyes and wished she could've have seen it through the phone. It was time to go into bastard mode.

"Stay away from here, Cuddles. I would hate to have you take advantage of me in my vulnerable state."

He could hear her sigh of frustration and he instantly regretted his words. He felt the self hatred boiling up within himself and knew there was only one way to beat it.

"Sorry."

The pregnant pause on her end of the dialogue was not unexpected and House squirmed uncomfortably waiting for a response.

"_Its ok."_

Her voice was breathy and sent a shiver down his spine that was definitely not from the cold. If she talked to him like that everyday, both he and little Greg would be happy all the time.

"_Have you…talked to Wilson about this?"_

The moment was ruined as Cuddy mentioned is best male friend.

"I haven't even talked to my mom about this," he said honestly.

There was no response from Cuddy as they both took in the gravity of the situation. House glanced down at his watch and took in the time. Wilson would be back in about 10 minutes.

"Lisa?"

"_Yea?"_

"My father physically and mentally abused me," he started, "and I'm…I'm sort of reliving it."

"_I'll be right over. Do you need anything else?"_

He shook his head slowly as he spoke, "No. Just, just you."

He spoke with a quiver in his voice and he knew Cuddy had picked up on it. Before he registered exactly what he was doing, his phone was back to his ear and ringing. He had to apologize to his best friend.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Hehe. I have a couple surprises left up my sleeve. At least, I hope its not all that predictable. Also, I'm thinking the next chapter might force my story up a rating... As always, please let me know what you think. I really do read all your reviews!

xoTrebleMaker


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **House, not mine, David Shore's, don't sue, read!

**[H] [H] [H]**

House huffed and rubbed his forehead with his left hand in mounting agitation. A busy signal repeated itself through his cell phone speaker, causing his head to pulse with each tone in response. House could feel the frustration and guilt burning through his system. He only wanted to call Wilson to tell him to stay home. If he managed to work in an "I'm sorry" somehow into that, all for the better. However, it seemed that the cell phone gods had other plans for him tonight. If gods existed, than they were cold hearted bitches in his opinion.

"You really must hate me," he muttered gruffly to himself while glancing skyward.

With a soft snapping sound, House flipped his phone shut and haphazardly tossed it on the couch beside him. He rubbed his eyes, gently, with the heel of his hand then rested his head in his right hand, despite the protest of his stitches.

He glanced at his right arm, happy to see the slices were mending together nicely. They gleamed faintly in the pale light offered by the lamp in the corner. The pink skin, a good sign of healing, was slightly indented in his arm. He knew it would never be completely even with the surface of his skin, but he was grateful that it wasn't any worse.

Another day or two, he marveled, and the stitches would be able to come out, no problem. Maybe he could get Cuddy to take them out tonight if he asked nicely. He smirked a bit and began thinking of much more manipulative ways to get the job done and realized they were much more appealing than behaving well.

His inspection was interrupted by a steely stare coming from the vicinity of his left foot. He glanced down, not ready for the sight that would meet his eyes. All at once, he was swimming in a thick sea of emotions and uncertainty. He pulled in a sharp breath as he picked up the picture. Suddenly, it was as if cold steel were back beneath his jaw.

"_What's the matter, House?"_

Perspiration began to form on the diagnostician's brow as he stared anxiously at the black and white version of himself. Electricity jolted down his spine as the image of himself seemed to blink, sucking him under and into his own twisted memories.

"_Look at it!"_

_He groaned and closed his eyes, batting feebly at the picture being thrust into his face. Every ounce of his body hurt. He could feel his shoulder stinging savagely with the effort of his movement to push the picture away. His head was splitting in half with a vengeance unlike anything he had every known._

House's head pounded in synch with the memory of his torture and he grunted slightly. He blinked and turned the picture over to keep its intent gaze off his own face. He was relieved when the pain in his head receded slightly with the turn of the photograph.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his head was healing, but the pain of his concussion was there now as if he had just been hit yesterday. He vaguely reasoned that his head didn't actually hurt, but at the same time, he could feel every pulse within his skull.

He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to distract himself from the pain, as he gazed at the photos scattered across the floor. He needed to clear them before Cuddy arrived. He couldn't let her see them.

With a deep breath, and the help of his trusty cane, House heaved himself to his feet and ambled the few steps towards the photos littered about the floor. He scanned them, careful not to place his cane on any of the artifacts before him as he simply observed. He was grateful that a good portion of the photos had landed face down.

With great care, he began gathering up the pictures beginning with those that had landed face down. Each piece of paper, although practically weightless in his hands, felt as if a ton of bricks was pressing down on him. He couldn't see himself and note the pain pouring out of his every feature, but the thought of the paper in his hand being chemically altered to forever hold the image of his torture was almost unbearable.

He took a step forward, holding the photos he had managed to gather in the same hand as his cane. The soft crunch of paper met his ears as he stepped upon a picture that threatened to hold a staring contest with him. He knew he'd have to face the two pictures eventually, but there were three more without stares he wanted to tackle first.

Leaning forward with his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration, House reached for the farthest of the white backed photos first. He could hear his floorboards creaking awkwardly as his weight shifted precariously. Hopping slightly, House snatched the remaining photos obscured from his sight and righted himself quickly. Flashes of silver danced before his eyes at the sudden movement and he stood for a moment to fight them off.

Taking a deep, steadying breath helped to break the light show dancing before his eyes. It was with a finality that House glanced down at the edge of the photograph beneath his foot. With only a corner exposed, it was hard to tell exactly what kind of torture awaited him. Carefully, he lifted his foot and glanced down.

A shiver ran through his body at the powerful memories stirring within his mind. The god _really_ must hate him. One picture had been taken after House had passed out at one point or another. His face was darkened with what could only be bruising and he had curled about himself defensively. However, it was the second picture that took his resolve and smashed it to tiny bits.

The dead look in his eyes made him remember all too clearly of the conversation he had had with Cuddy right before she hung up. The lack of anything in his eyes was truly terrifying and completely pitiful.

A faint ringing began in his ears and his mind spun as words came back to him.

"_Sure you do. What is it? Does he play God with his patients? Does he flirt with the nurses? …Does he flirt with you?"_

He grimaced, fighting off the memory as he bent over to retrieve the final two pictures piercing through him like a javelin thrown by an Olympian. He knew that Eric's conversation with Cuddy was null and void after the talk he had had with her himself; doubt, however, still clung to him.

"_Tell me Dr. Cuddy. Are you in love with Dr. House?"_

He shook his head in an attempt to physically clear his head from his thoughts. It did little more than cause a small dizzy spell as he stumbled his way back over to his couch. With pictures in hand, House propped his cane against the coffee table and eased himself into the comfort of his couch. His mind was still reeling as if merely holding the photos was causing the memories to leak back into his grey matter.

"… _Are you in love with Dr. House?"_

The question echoed through his mind, but instead of fear and doubt rearing its ugly head, House found a self-satisfied smirk working its way to his lips.

Cuddy had said she was falling in love with him. Hell, even he knew it was 20 years coming. He absent mindedly flipped through the pictures with his thumb as if he were riffling through playing cards as he thought about Cuddy's little confession.

If it hadn't been for the wires and tubes connected to him at the time, it probably would've been much more dramatic. He closed his eyes and continued to run his thumbs along the photographs as he played out his desired situation.

_A loud crash breaks the tense silence as Cuddy sits daintily upon her sofa with a heavy set man House has never seen before. He can tell, however, by the way the man is dressed, let alone Cuddy's body language, that this man is a donor to Princeton-Plainsboro and a well to do one at that._

_A mischievous smirk crosses his features as Cuddy shoots him a quick warning glare while his guest stares in shock and disbelief at the interuption._

"_Sorry, Dr. Cuddles," begins House, limping forward a step or two, "Am I interrupting something?"_

"_Yes, _Dr. House,"_ Cuddy replied with heavy emphasis upon correctly pronouncing his name, "I was just meeting with Mr. Jordan. Could I meet with you in a few minutes?"_

_House hesitates, tilting his head to the side while studying the man still seated in complete shock on a chair opposite Cuddy on the sofa. Normally, Cuddy would have at least asked if there was an emergency. This guy must be _really_ important._

"_No time. If I wait, my patient dies," he says simply. He purses his lips briefly in a subconscious display of his distaste for the man sitting so close to his Cuddy. He stands up a little straighter as he observes Cuddy again, noting the red tint to her skin at her agitation. If only he weren't being so serious about the whole dying patient thing. He would love to banter with her and make that coloring stand out deliciously._

_Cuddy stands, excusing herself from the man before her who is now at least attempting to compose himself. House refuses to let the smile cross his lips, but he can tell by Cuddy's frustrated scowl that it has invaded his eyes. He turns and limps towards the door, the clacking of Cuddy's heels in hot pursuit._

_The door clicks shut behind him as an exasperated sigh issues from the Dean of Medicine's lips._

"_What do you want, House?"_

"_You and the twins, of course. I couldn't let that guy have all the fun," he quips quickly._

"_House!"_

_He smirks in earnest. The frustration in her voice rivals only that of the tension in her stance._

"_I need to dig into my patients brain to get a biopsy," he says with the nonchalance of a kindergartener asking his mother to dig a hole in his backyard sandbox._

"_You know I can't let you do that, House," she says. A coolness is entering her voice as the familiarity of the situation washes over her._

"_Yes you can, because you have to or _she dies_," he finished with finality._

_Cuddy puts a hand to her forehead and bites her bottom lip caught between the need to save a patient and the need to put her foot down around House and keep him in line. She knows that a life is far more important than forcing House to play by the rules._

"_Fine. Do it."_

_House blinks, unsure of how to proceed. The faint clacking of Cuddy's heels reaches his ears and he knows he has to act fast before the chance is gone for the day._

"_That's it?"_

"_What's it?"_

_House smirks at the annoyance in her voice. His odds are increasing._

"_You're not going to ask me why I need to do this? You're just going to…let me do this?"_

_Cuddy turned sharply, facing the doctor head on as she walked slowly over to him. She crossed her arms before her as a playful smirk graced her features. House knew immediately that the game was on._

"_Would you like me to?"_

_House bit back a laugh._

"_Of course not. I _would_ however, like you to stop playing games with my head, Cuddles."_

_Cuddy rolls her eyes as she drops her arms, "First, do not call me Cuddles in front of my staff." She motions to the nurses station just outside the clinic where the usual crowd has gathered to, once again, watch the drama that is Dr. House and Dr. Cuddy._

"_Second," she continued as House returns his gaze to hers, "I'm not playing games with you!"_

_House did grin at the frustration in her voice this time. It was check and mate._

"_You can't deny what you feel for me, Cuddy."_

_He didn't miss the shock in her eyes and it was exactly that emotion that coaxed him to continue._

"_Every time I walk into your office, you act like you've got to save your poor precious hospital from the big bad wolf. Admit it, you're not afraid of me at all."_

_A wolfish grin accompanied by his piercing blue eyes froze Lisa Cuddy to the spot. Her mind was barely stringing together coherent sentences as she opened her mouth to speak._

"_You're right, I'm not afraid of you."_

"_Damn right, you're not," said House with conviction. He took a step closer to her, closing the distance to a much more personal level than would have been acceptable had it not been for his heated blue stare and the sudden control he had over the Dean of Medicine._

"_You're in love with me."_

_Fear, surprise and finally absolutely nothing flashed in Cuddy's eyes and House found himself greatly amused. In that one glance, all of his suspicions had been confirmed. Dr. Lisa Cuddy did, in fact, love him._

"_Get over yourself, House," she said starting to turn away from him._

_He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. He hesitated for a second, drinking in her face when suddenly, he lowered his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. In moments, she had melted into it with a fervor. The curl of a smug smirk began at House's lips._

A sharp rap at the door shook House from his reverie. He cursed under his breath as he sound caused him to jump and slice his thumb open on the photos he held in his hand. Quickly stuffing the photos back into the torn open envelope, House popped his thumb into his mouth and forced himself off the couch to answer the door. He grimaced a bit at the faint metallic taste the greeted him. It wasn't entirely different from the taste of blood, but it wasn't entirely the same either.

As the door swung open, the concerned blue gaze of Cuddy greeted him. He stared for a moment, not sure if the situation he had imagined was entirely real or not, before stepping aside and allowing Cuddy into his home.

"I called Wilson," she said as she stepped lightly inside and dropped a small duffle bag off to the side of his door. He nodded in comprehension. At least the busy signal made sense now. Cuddy was the one blocking the call, not some unknown force.

Cuddy turned, removing her jacket and scarf, as she studied House's face. He looked pale -- as though he had just been visited by a ghost.

"Greg, are you alright?"

A soft popping noise was emitted from his mouth as he removed his thumb. He swallowed a bit, his throat suddenly sore. He attributed it to the sudden intake of the cold winter air and nothing more.

"Oh, just swell, _mom,_" he began with more venom than he intended, "Reliving my childhood is a walk in the park."

He turned abruptly and limped his way back to his couch, his hand firmly gripping his leg as the suddenness of Cuddy's arrival had left him ambling to the door without his cane. The welcome relief of the couch cushions caused the dull ache beginning to build in his leg to recede for the time being.

Cuddy walked over and rubbed the back of the couch slowly, unsure of what to say or do next. She wanted him to open up to her like he had begun to on the phone, but she didn't want to push him into it either. If she had learned anything about Greg House over the past 20-some-odd-years, it was that pushing House was like trying to force a donkey to walk.

"How's the pain?"

He could tell by the softness of her voice that she meant his emotional wellbeing, but he also knew that she would be satisfied with news of his physical injuries as well. He sighed in gratitude.

"Its manageable," he said, hoping Cuddy would understand it as an answer to both the physical as well as the emotional at this point.

House studied his hands, looking for an idle distraction to the awkward tension that was mounting in the room. However, he was surprised to see that the palms of his hands, as well as his fingertips, were bright red in angry irritation. Something was obviously not right.

"House."

He recognized the faint tone as Cuddy walked around and softly took his hand in hers. Her touch was cool against the red skin and he welcomed it. He hadn't realized that it was both itchy and warm until she had touched it.

"What'd you do to your hands?"

He paused for a moment as a burning sensation began to roll through his stomach. He swallowed thickly, fighting back the sensation to answer.

"I had to pick up a few things that fell on the floor."

It was a half truth and he knew it, but she didn't need to know the fine details. The burning sensation intensified. His throat felt as though it were on fire and his head began to swim uncomfortably. A combination of the sudden vertigo and the cramps that were beginning to build in his gut took all his willpower to keep his face even.

"Something's not right, Lisa," he croaked. He looked up into her eyes. However, he immediately wished he hadn't as the fear within her gaze appeared with such intensity that he knew he must have accidentally given away his concern with his own eyes.

"Greg, I think we need to get you back to the hospital," she soothed.

House shook his head, refusing to go back now. His head was beginning to ache again and his vision was blurring. He didn't understand what was happening to him. His concussion should be clearing, not worsening.

"My head," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

Cuddy never left his side as he picked up House's phone on the couch exactly where he had left it. She placed the call to dispatch without ever letting go of his hand.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: Sorry for the short and delayed update. Semester's in full swing for me and my studies take priority of my writing for the time being. Anyways! I know, I've left you with another cliffie...and another mystery to boot. As usual, please let me know what you think!

xoTrebleMaker


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own House. Still only own this plot. On an unrelated note, I also like cheese...a lot.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cold assaulted his senses with the force of an elephant throwing a shot-put. Every inch of his skin, with the exception of his head, felt alight with fire as his nerves attempted to interpret the extreme cold. He shifted a bit, surprised when he found that he was in a rather confined area.

A sharp ringing filled his ears with an alarming pitch that threatened to dislodge every thought his brain made as it kept up. He shivered, wincing slightly as his bruised ribs and freshly healing side ached in protest. He couldn't for the life of him remember how he landed himself here this time.

How had he possibly misbehaved so terribly that he had warranted himself an ice bath?

Images floated hazily through his mind as the icy water licked at his skin in relentless torture.

_A strong hand was on the back of his neck as well as digging into the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as he was steered into the tiny bathroom of his home once again. He knew he had pushed his luck too far, but this was something new to fear. He wasn't quite sure why he was being escorted into the bathroom after waiting, locked in his room, for nearly twenty minutes._

_It was only after he caught a glimpse of the bathtub filled to the brim with what could only be ice floating within it that he began to struggle._

"No," he whimpered hoarsely as he struggled feebly within the tub. A sour taste filled his mouth and he noted -- somewhere in the back of his mind -- that his tongue felt dry.

"Greg, its okay," a voice soothed him. He recognized it and he stopped struggling as harshly, although he was less than happy to be within the frigid container.

"_I-I-I didn't mean to! I swear!" yelled a young House as his father roughly tossed him into the bathroom and stepped inside. Greg swallowed thickly as the click of the deadbolt behind him informed him that he was now trapped inside the bathroom with his father._

_This wasn't going to end well._

"Didn't….d-din't mean…it," he croaked out, slurring his words slightly as he once again began to struggle. His throat felt as if someone had taken sandpaper to it, although he knew it was impossible. He tried to swallow and noted that his entire mouth was aching with dryness. His discomfort, however, was lost as he recognized sounds around him once more.

"Shhh," the soft voice continued. This time, it was accompanied by a soothing rub of the back of his neck and the swipe of something cool across his forehead.

_His father shook his head as he unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves of his nice button up shirt. Greg shook his head and backed up, carefully avoiding the rim of the bathtub in the process. He knew it was where was eventually going to end up, but he didn't want to aid his father by hastening the process himself._

"_So, you didn't mean to give me lip when I asked you to finish your chores?" his father asked with disdain._

_Greg shook his head knowing full well that he had slipped his father a few sarcastic comments after he had been handed more tasks to the already long list of chores he needed to complete. Far be it from Greg to say that it was unfair to spring another round of washing the car on him after the last time. Greg shuddered a bit as he remembered his "failed" attempts at a clean car. The car had been glittering in the sunlight without spots or imperfections, however Greg had forgotten to wax the car after cleaning; it earned him a shower with the cold water of the hose outside._

_Young House bumped into the edge of the tub and reached his hand back to steady himself against the basin. He withdrew his hand almost immediately, however, as his fingertips were met with chunks of ice. He turned his head slowly and took in the bath behind him with a shudder._

_His father was really planning on forcing him into an ice bath..._

Another hoarse whimper filled the air and House furrowed his brow, doing the best he could to put on a brave face in a moment like this. He couldn't let his father see him afraid. It would only end in more twisted punishment.

"House. Can you hear me?"

It was that soft voice again. He recognized it, but the name floated somewhere behind a haze that he was having an extremely difficult time penetrating. He worked towards it as he rested his head back against the tub. His body was still wracked with shivers even as he thought.

_He shivered violently as his father forced him into the ice bath even with his clothes on. His father's strong hands held his shoulders down, forcing his son to stay within the confines of the frigid basin even as the younger House struggled against his captor. Water splashed out of the tub as he worked furiously to get out of his father's grasp. His energy was quickly diminishing, however, in combination of his fighting as well as the icy fingers of the water working against him. He heard a gentle voice calling just beyond the door and he knew his mother was knocking as well._

"M-mom?" he asked, uncertainly. He strained to hear the knocking at the door and was confused when he couldn't pick it out of the air. Slowly, his brain started to piece together the clues and decided that it was indeed possible that she hadn't come this time. He concentrated instead on trying to open his eyes.

Cuddy bit her lip anxiously as she watched the grown man shivering and hallucinating before her. His temperature had skyrocketed in his home and it had taken all of her self-control to keep herself together as she rushed around his apartment to gather ice and cool cloths to get his core temperature down. Obviously, the necessity of an ice bath upon his arrival to PPTH had meant that it hadn't been enough.

"No, Greg," she said softly as she smoothed his hair, "Its Lisa."

A memory stirred within his head as House forced his eyes open at the mention of her name. The intensity of the overhead lights blinded him momentarily and he blinked quickly in an effort to see something other than the pristine white that invaded his vision. He noted, with faint annoyance, that each blink brought more of the light into focus, but that his vision still seemed a bit blurred.

He shivered a bit and glanced down at his own body now submerged in ice water up to his neck. Memories of his last ice bath tried to force their way back into his mind and he shuddered against them. It was obvious to him that he was not twelve and that he had not earned himself an ice bath from failing to complete his chores. He was obviously in this frigid basin to reduce his temperature, although he couldn't remember having a fever.

He blinked a few more times in an attempt to clear his still blurred vision before he mentally took inventory on his body.

His throat burned fiercely, as though someone had stuck a hot metal down his esophagus. His stomach rolled tightly, although he was certain that that feeling was diminished by the ice surrounding his body. He shivered again, taking note of the way his head swam as he attempted to collect himself enough to speak with Cuddy.

"Cuddy. What happened?" he slurred slightly and blinked up at her, trying to bring her eyes into focus.

Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he was lucid enough now to speak with her. It had been a frightening 45 minutes or so that she hoped she'd never have to live through again. If it wasn't the sudden fever spike, it had been the sudden blood pressure drop and the sound of his voice harshly grating its way up from his throat.

"You've been poisoned, Greg," she said, once again running her fingers through his hair. She stopped only once she reached the medical bandage around his head and made a mental note to change that for him later.

"What?" he asked rather stupidly.

He blinked again, noting her concerned features as he attempted to process the new information. Slowly, his mind tumbled to his symptoms. His throat was tight and sore. His vision was blurred. His blood pressure had plummeted shortly after Cuddy's phone call into dispatch. Worst of all, however, he was still disoriented, although that could've been a side effect of what had obviously been a high fever.

"House," she spoke softly and brushed the back of her hand against his cheek. She noted the warmth still coming from his body as she spoke, "You were poisoned."

"Sulfuric acid," he murmured softly as his symptoms tied themselves together in a neat little package within his mind.

The fever, blurred vision, disorientation were all consistent with sulfuric acid poisoning. He furrowed his brows a bit, realizing that he would have needed to ingest it, however, for it to manifest the way it had.

Suddenly, the paper cut he sustained earlier from handling the photos jumped to his mind and everything tied together. He had accidentally ingested the poison when he had popped his thumb in his mouth to stop the bleeding. Eric must have developed his photos in a sulfuric acid bath. It wasn't unheard of, but it was extremely dangerous. It had obviously been done on purpose.

House swallowed painfully as the last bit of information he knew about this poison crept into his mind as he looked up at Cuddy. He noted the way her eyebrows seemed to knit together for a moment in puzzlement before they shot up to her hairline in comprehension.

"Oh, God!" she gasped as she covered her mouth with her hand. He grimaced at he reaction, realizing that she knew all the symptoms as well as its side effects.

"We need to get you milk of magnesia _immediately,_" she said with sudden urgency.

He nodded slightly, the grim expression on his face never changing. If he didn't neutralize the acid eating away at his throat and stomach, he'd die. There was no other way around it.

He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, no longer able to feel the cold chill that bit into him. He wasn't entirely sure if the sudden numbness was caused by the ice water surrounding his body or if it was from the complete shock stemming from the fact that he may, once again, be facing death.

Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, he noted Cuddy's frantic search for some milk of magnesia. At this point, he didn't care if he guzzled a whole bottle of pepto-bismol. If it meant that his throat would no longer hurt and that his life would be spared, he would do it in a heart beat.

The faint whoosh of the sliding down heralded a new arrival. House closed his eyes, no longer shivering in his bath, as the new arrival walked cautiously over towards him. The lack of reaction to his cold bath would have worried him had he not been so intent on trying to discern who had entered his room based solely on the sounds of their footsteps.

"God, House. What have you done this time?"

He glanced up only to see the face of Wilson looking back at him with a mix of horror and amusement on his face. House could almost guarantee the look of amusement was Wilson's failed attempt at making the entire scenario seem much less serious than it was.

"Apparently, I was…too hot for Cuddy…to handle," he choked out while waggling his eyebrows in what he hoped passed for a suggestive manner.

Wilson rolled his eyes and turned towards the commotion just outside the door. At least he was happy to see that House could still be sarcastic even in as serious a time as this. It meant that not all was lost -- there was still hope.

"Wilson," called House, suddenly realizing the need to try his best to apologize for kicking his best friend out of his home earlier during the night.

"What?" It was all the oncologist to muster in reply in light of recent situations.

House paused, sensing the tension in the room before he spoke, "Just wanted to know how it felt not to play baby-sitter all night."

It was a stupid statement and he knew it. Wilson would see right through his veiled attempt to gauge Wilson's feelings towards House's earlier impulsive outburst. The diagnostician was relieved to see Wilson's face soften as much as was possible in the given circumstances.

"It _was_ nice to be able to sleep in my own bed, but I still worried-"

"That's all you ever do, Jimmy," House cut in with what he hoped looked like a snide smirk.

"If you had seen your face when you kicked me out you would know why I was worrying!"

The sudden edge to Wilson's voice did little to help the headache that was threatening to break through his toleration levels. He grimaced a bit at the thought of pain, but the ice was beginning to numb anything that was already bothering him.

Guilt washed over House and he could only catch his friend's eyes out from beneath his heavy brows. However, the strength with which it held him increased tenfold as he caught the worry beginning to resurface within the oncologists eyes. He didn't need this right now.

"Sorry," he grumbled out in a tone no louder than a whisper. He pushed his gaze away from his friend, trying desperately to look anywhere but at Wilson. He could feel the younger man's gaze on him even as he did everything in his power to ignore it. With great reluctance, however, he submitted and turned to meet Wilson's gaze.

The younger man opened his mouth to speak and House shivered slightly, more with relief than from surprise, as the sliding door to his room slid open and quickly closed. The familiar clacking of high heels against the linoleum flooring immediately told him who had entered.

A hand was brushed across his forehead and he glanced up into the steely blue gaze of Lisa Cuddy.

"First, we need to get you out of this ice," she said motioning for Wilson and the nurse she had brought with her to help him out, "Then, we'll have to take off that bandage holding your jaw in place _and then_ you can take this."

House glanced to her other hand and noted the off-white liquid trapped within a clear plastic bottle. He sighed with relief and began to take his arms out of the bathtub containing him. As he gripped the sides of the tub, he noted the redness of his skin stained from the cold and realized that he couldn't quite feel the muscles straining beneath it.

Hands soon surrounded his arms and pulled him out of his bath. He began to shiver as he was dried and he didn't cease until he was placed within the safety of his hospital bed. Even then, small tremors still managed to overtake his body from time to time.

With swift hands, Wilson undid the handy work that he had put into place what could only have been hours before. He grinned sheepishly at Cuddy as he stepped away with the gratuitous amount of wrappings that he held in his hands. Cuddy rolled her eyes slightly and shook her head at him; although she was upset that he had used so much of the material needlessly, she also knew it was the only way House would have ever kept it on so long in the first place.

"You need to take this," Cuddy said softly as she handed House a healthy amount of his milky white antidote. The soft whooshing of the door signaled the nurse leaving with her task completed. House smirked a bit as she walked away. It was one of the nurses he had managed to irritate earlier during the week.

House pulled his attention back towards Cuddy and was shocked at the composure she managed. He nodded weakly and took in every facet of her well composed features. If he didn't know her better, he would never have guessed that she was squirming and silently praying that he would pull through this. After all, it was such a rare occurrence for someone to ingest sulfuric acid and survive.

"I'll be fine, you know," he croaked out, carefully holding his jaw still, as she placed the hospital issue plastic cup in his hands, still raw and red from the burns sustained by the sulfuric acid. He eyed her carefully, looking for any cracks within the fragile mask she had created.

"I know."

House gazed at Wilson as he took in her voice. It was filled with uncertainty and hope, a combination that both men within the room knew to be the only things anyone was willing to take a bet on at this time.

Slowly, he raised the plastic chalice to his lips. He drank in the mildly mint flavored serum slowly as he contemplated the odds he had for survival.

They had caught his symptoms relatively early, meaning the burns to his throat and esophagus were minimal. Even as the medicine slid down his throat, he could feel it soothing the damaged tissue. His suspicions about the minimal damage, then, were confirmed. Anything worse and the liquid would feel like hot lava pouring down his throat.

He paused to breathe and eyed what was left of his antidote while clearing his mouth of what he had already began to ingest. The burns to his hands looked severely less irritated, although it could also be that his healthy skin was still a reddish hue from the assault of the ice bath.

With determination, he emptied the contents of the plastic glass and handed it back to Cuddy's now trembling hands. He looked up at her and noted the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. With a quick glance towards Wilson, he returned his attention towards her.

"Don't worry," he started, the arrogant tone of voice returning as his confidence grew, "It already helped the burning in my throat. If it hadn't, it would've meant much more serious consequences."

The relief that flooded his friends' faces caused him to roll his eyes in deflection. He was tired of having to deal with their constant worry these days.

"So you're sure you'll pull through this then?" asked Wilson.

"Well, I certainly won't be dancing down the halls with joy," he retorted, "but yea. I think I'll be alright."

Cuddy and Wilson exchanged glances, trying to suppress the smiles that were threatening to overtake their faces.

House continued, surprising both of them, "In all honesty, I feel that this idiot wanted me to suffer more than he wanted me to actually die. Either that, or he didn't want to completely eat through his pictures in the acid bath."

"Wait, what pictures?" Cuddy asked glancing between House and Wilson who were now avoiding any eye contact with her or each other.

"House," she continued, shifting her weight and crossing her arms in an attempt to look authoritative. The arching of her eyebrow was what caused House to smirk a bit as he spoke.

"The photos I gave him to develop of our night together. You know…_that night_," he said with a dramatic stage wink.

Cuddy threw up her arms in exasperation and turned on her heel. Just as she had thought they were finally getting somewhere, House had to throw a wrench into the mechanism. She threw the sliding door to his room open and threw one last heated glance in his direction. She was infuriated to see that the arrogant smirk had not left his features as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Wilson took a few cautious steps towards House as he watched the retreating form of Dr. Lisa Cuddy storm out of sight.

"Did you really have to push her away _now?_" he asked incredulously.

"If I didn't, I would ruin my perfect score on sending someone out of my room in a tizzy," he deadpanned.

"House. You know what I mean," Wilson answered, taking a fresh roll of bandages out from the small storage unit beside House's bed.

The diagnostician knew he shouldn't have pushed her away like that, but with Wilson in the room to see any sentiments that may have passed between them, he froze like a deer in headlights and acted on instinct. Unfortunately, that meant pushing away the one woman he wanted with him more than anyone else at the moment.

"She doesn't know about the pictures," he said peeking a glance at Wilson even as his friend began to properly bandage his healing jaw once again.

"Didn't she see them when she got to your place?" he asked. House couldn't help but note the bitterness that managed to sneak its way into his words.

"I picked them up before she got there," he replied noncommittally.

"Why did you ask her over, anyway? You know I could've helped you out just as well as--"

"But you would've judged me if I told you I was abused growing up," he spat at Wilson, hoping to catch him off guard with the sudden information. The shocked stare and agape jaw told House his strategy had worked.

"_What?!_"

House rolled his eyes in exasperation as the knots in his stomach began to loosen. He was extremely happy to see that his suspicions about the diluted sulfuric acid photo developer were proving to be true.

"See, I knew you'd react this way _mom_," House shot back.

Wilson paused a moment to collect his thoughts as well as his emotions, completely ignoring the jab House had thrown at him. He knew that he couldn't just rush into this new vault that his friend had suddenly opened to him. No wonder he had been shoved out of House's apartment so abruptly and with no explanation. Something had triggered a very well guarded, albeit painful, memory.

"I don't know what to say," he responded slowly. It was the truth. He didn't know what House wanted to hear or what he should say in a situation like this.

"I don't want you to say or ask anything," House responded, his voice heavy with weariness, "I just want you to know."

Wilson nodded, taking in the new information. It explained a lot about House's behavior, but it left so many more questions unanswered. However, one glance at his friend with dark circles beneath his eyes told him to put any questions he had to the back of his mind for later use.

"You should sleep," Wilson instructed.

His words fell upon deaf ears, however. House had already drifted off into blissful sleep.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Hours later, Cuddy walked briskly to her front door in an effort to keep herself out in the cold for a limited amount of time. She had checked on her best diagnostician ( she mentally scolded herself as she contemplated acknowledging him as her best doctor) twice before she felt comfortable enough to leave. His condition was rapidly improving and she was happy to say that he would pull through this horrible ordeal.

She groaned slightly, realizing that he had put them back to square one in regards to any emotional connection that had started to make though. She cursed him mentally as she took the final step onto the low step that stood before her home. Her foot nudged something as she stepped forward and inserted her key into the lock. She bent, scooping up the envelope with only her name and address scrawled upon it, in what looked to be a hurried mess, as she turned the lock and pushed her front door open.

She stepped inside her home and swiftly pulled her winter hat from her head as she shut the door. The envelope weighed upon her other palm in indication that there was more than just a letter contained within.

She stuck her finger under the flap and began to tear the top open, curiosity driving her forward. She tipped the envelope over, hearing paper scraping against paper as squares fell into her head. She looked at them, puzzled, until she realized that they were photographs.

All at once, she gasped and dropped the photos to her floor. The images scattered themselves carelessly about her home and Cuddy could only observe them in complete horror.

"Oh, House," she whimpered as she picked up the picture closest to herself. There within the photograph was a picture of Dr. Gregory House curled in on himself with a hand upon his jaw.

Tears silently made their way down her cheeks as she could only sit and stare at the photograph in her hand. She noticed, with mild shock, that her fingers were beginning to burn uncomfortably with their contact against the photograph. Something clicked within Cuddy's mind and she forced herself to drop the photograph back to the floor with the other photos.

She rushed to the kitchen sink and turned the water on warm, immediately plunging her fingers under the stream.

Photographs. The _photographs_ House had unintentionally mentioned while she was in his hospital room.

_He didn't want me to see what he had lived through, _she thought to herself, _He didn't want me to know. He didn't want me to _worry.

More tears spilled down her cheeks at the thought. He had pushed her away, yes; however, his intentions were to protect her, not to harm her. He was still a softy, even if she did have to dig through layers of rugged exterior to find it. Maybe they hadn't gone back to start after all.

_No wonder this new trauma triggered memories of his past,_ she thought to herself as the water continued to stream over her fingers.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A/N: And the long awaited chapter is posted! Again, I'm sorry my posts are becoming more and more erratic. I'm hoping to post another chapter soon, though. I've got Monday off this week. :) As usual, please let me know your thoughts. I love to hear from you all!

xoTrebleMaker


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House or any characters there within. They are David Shore's creations...although technically if House is based on Sherlock Holmes, the credit belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Anyways, nothing's mine except the plot!

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy huffed impatiently as she glanced at her watch for what must have been the 4th time in about 30 minutes. House had put up surprisingly little resistance when Cuddy had suggested he spend a few days at her place. Her motives, although fueled by concern for his health, were less than altruistic. She wanted to talk to him and get to the bottom of their ever increasingly awkward romantic situation. At least if they were at her home, he couldn't kick her out. He'd have to face it.

The sound of rushing water continued to splash its way throughout the house, invading every nook and crevice and filling it with its voice. The white noise had tempted Cuddy into dreaming several times already. She had caught herself dozing only to be startled awake by a sudden change in sound from the television before her. Cuddy shifted, hoping that the movement would help rouse her sleepy body, and listened intently for any signs of the shower coming to an end. If it hadn't been for the occasional melody that slipped its way into the rushing water, Cuddy would have worried that House had drowned himself.

Cuddy closed her eyes and let her mind drift as House's singing voice floated through the air with a muffled tone. Things had been interesting (to say the least) after House made a miraculous 2 day recovery at Princeton-Plainsboro. Somehow, Cuddy had managed to put an end to the "how-many-sexual-innuendos-can-House-fit-into-one-conversation" game by setting a new bandage around his jaw a little tighter than it needed to be. The glint added to his already sparkling blue eyes was totally worth it, despite the fact that he sent daggers her way for the rest of the day. It was with thoughts of his piercing blue stare lingering in her mind that Cuddy finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House had been wrapped in a towel for close to fifteen minutes, letting the steam of the shower hit his back as he sang as loudly as he dared without the wrappings encompassing his head. His jaw had ached without the pressure of the medical gauze at first, but the muscles had relaxed more and more as he continued to sing. The combination of heat from the shower and the gentle exercise he was giving his jaw were definitely helping.

Despite this minor success, he still felt absolutely drained. Every fiber of his body felt as though the life had been sucked out of it and that it was only recently beginning to return. A shiver ran down his spine and he began to think of all that he had lived through within the past 10 days. He had been kidnapped, tortured, shot, stabbed and even poisoned. It was no wonder his body was absolutely exhausted.

House closed his eyes and slowly tilted his head backwards ending a sluggish rendition of Moonlight Serenade. A grimace crossed his features as he slowly rotated his neck to alleviate the stiffness that had set in over the past few days. As he continued to gently stretch the muscles in his shoulders, the sounds of a piano drifted into his thoughts, prompting him to lift his voice once more.

"My funny valentine, sweet comic valentine," he crooned softly. He had denied any motive dictating the play-list of songs he had been singing, but as the lyrics spilled from his lips, he knew he couldn't deny the source much longer.

Images of Lisa Cuddy swirled through his thoughts as he continued to sing to himself.

"You make me smile with my heart," he continued as his voice began to soften, "Your looks are laughable. Unphotographable…"

His blue eyes opened and his mouth hung slack as he thought about those words. Dr. Lisa Cuddy's looks were hardly laughable. If anything, House knew that her looks were absolutely breath taking to most of the male population. Hell, everything about her drove House absolutely crazy.

If it wasn't the way her hair hung in soft curls around her face, it was the way her eyes glinted dangerously every time he requested some ridiculous procedure. If she didn't take that bait, it was the way she stood and strode out of her office with an extra oomph to the sway in her hips as she did so. Her smile could instantly brighten a room just as her tight lipped scowl could instantly set a tempest into the air.

Everything about Lisa Cuddy was expressive. Beautiful. Hardly Laughable.

"But don't change a hair for me, not if you care for me. Stay little valentine. Every day is valentine's day," he sang in a tone hardly louder than a whisper.

Taking in a deep breath, House forced himself to his feet and stood for a moment, fighting off the shakiness that still tried to take hold of his body. He used his hand against the wall as a guide and slowly limped towards the porcelain sink. The shower water splashed behind him without ever really catching the healing diagnostician's attention.

With slow precision, he swiped his hand across the condensation clinging to the mirror before him. A soft squeak followed his motions, somewhat breaking the band playing within his mind while he moved. With a deep breath, he glanced up into the mirror and locked onto his own eyes. The weariness he saw within his azure orbs startled him.

"I haven't looked this bad since…" he began and trailed off, absentmindedly running his right hand along the jagged scar that marred his thigh.

He scrutinized and assessed himself in the mirror in order to keep himself from revisiting that dark shadow buried within his memory. The scar and chronic pain radiating through his thigh were enough torment. There was no need to plunge further down that rabbit hole.

A determined stoicism hardened his features as his gaze scanned his reflection in the mirror. Physically, he was pleased to see the bruising along his jaw was clearing up nicely. The deep purple and blue that had been along his jawline had faded to a greenish-brown -- a strong indication that his jaw was on the mend and that the horrible wrap that went with it would soon disappear.

He shifted his gaze back into his own piercing stare as if he were searching for a deeper meaning within himself. The dark circles beneath his eyes, however, distracted him from his goal. The shadowed area stood out prominently against his pale complexion. It was more than obvious that he needed some serious recuperation time.

His gaze lowered to the shining pink formation that marked the place he had been shot. Very carefully, he traced the skin with his fingertips as he gazed at it in the mirror. The skin felt baby soft and burned slightly from the sensation of his touch. It had taken a bit of convincing (and some harassing), but Foreman had finally removed all of the stitches that held his skin together.

House chewed absentmindedly on the inside of his lip as he scrutinized one of his newest blemishes. It was nowhere near as disfiguring as the mark on his leg, but he knew it would plague him just as much as both scars had been earned in horribly traumatic ways. A soft pink line on his stomach stole his attention next. It was extremely thin and could easily go unnoticed if it weren't for the fact that House knew exactly where to look for it. He chuckled darkly as his fingers lightly grazed the fresh scar on his stomach.

_Another scar to hide_, he thought to himself. The irony of that stream of thought did not go unnoticed by the diagnostician. He hid so many more scars than just what his flesh put on permanent display.

A dull thud began to resound within his head as more memories threatened to surface once again. He wrenched his gaze away from the mirror and intently stared at the shower in an attempt to use the sound of the water as a distraction.

"Cuddy deserves better than me," he muttered to himself and he dropped his gaze to the floor. The towel around his waist soon followed suit as House limped over towards the hot water. As he pulled the curtain closed around him, tears that he promised himself he would never shed leaked from his eyes and mixed with the water engulfing him. Both were swept down the drain.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A loud knock at the door startled Cuddy from her increasingly nightmarish slumber. Her eyes darted from corner to corner as her brain attempted to process everything that had happened while she dozed.

_There was a face, right? Someone important that I should remember_, she thought to herself. However, another loud rap cut off her train of thought.

Running a hand through her hair, Cuddy slowly stood. She paused a moment to stretch and straighten her clothes that had managed to become somewhat lopsided in the whole 5 minutes she had slept.

Careful not to trip as she fought through the sleepy haze that still clouded her thoughts, Cuddy jumped over the large duffel bag and guitar House had insisted on bringing with him to her home. She rolled her eyes as she pulled the door open.

"Good afternoon," said a silky smooth voice.

Cuddy froze as she took in the sight of the man before her. He was well dressed and well groomed, even taking the time to pull his dreadlocks back at the nape of his neck. Although outwardly, he looked harmless, a great sense of uneasiness filled Cuddy's entire being.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Cuddy rested against the door in a manner she hoped looked casual. In all honesty, she was preparing herself to slam the door if the need arose.

The man before her shifted uneasily as he sensed the intense scrutiny of Dr. Cuddy's gaze. He needed to gain her trust. He needed this to go as smoothly as possible.

"I'm awfully sorry to bother you, miss," he looked up at her innocently, "but I'm here doing research for a Political Science course at Harvard. I've been asked to come to this neighborhood and assess the demographic of the area."

The tension Cuddy had been holding in her system began to lessen as she listened to the college student before her. However, there was still a kernel of panic in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't quite go away.

"Oh," she responded and shifted slightly, "Well, how can I help you then?"

Cuddy watched as the young man pulled his messenger bag from his shoulder and carefully placed it on the ground. She surveyed the neighborhood behind him and noted how peaceful everything was. Nothing seemed to be amiss. She looked down and was startled to see his deep brown eyes boring into her.

"Actually, all I need is to take your picture," he said awkwardly holding a Polaroid camera in his hands.

The sound of running water halted somewhere in the distance and Cuddy glanced down at her watch. She sighed heavily noting that House had been in the shower (or at least had the hot water running) for over an hour. She quickly made a mental note to kill him later…or at least assign him more clinic hours to make up for it.

"You know, I'd really love to help you out, but now is not a good time," Cuddy began trying her best to usher the russet skinned man before her away from her home.

The man bit his lip before he spoke, "All I need is a picture."

Cuddy glanced at her wristwatch once again and sighed. She wanted to help him, she really did, but she needed to make sure House was okay in there.

"Please? Just one picture."

"Alright, fine," Cuddy said with a distinct note of irritation in her voice. She shifted the door wider open and forced a smile to grace her features. The chuckle that greeted her ears from the man before her chilled her to the bone.

"Actually, I need you to stand by the mailbox," he began as he picked up his bag and started to walk down the sidewalk, "I need to get your home in the background as well."

Cuddy huffed as she stepped out from her front door and quietly shut the door behind her. After all, she would only be gone for a minute or two. No need in worrying her house guest. She crossed her arms and stared at the college student who had slipped his bag back over his shoulder and held his instant camera in his left hand.

"Ladies first," he said as he gestured for her to lead the way.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but began to walk down the sidewalk. She had barely taken 3 steps when she felt a strong arm around her waist and a cloth pressed tightly over her mouth and nose.

"And now, Lisa Cuddy, you help me out for my real project," said the man into her ear. The sudden change in his voice sent chills down Cuddy's spine as she struggled against him. That voice. She _knew_ that voice.

Her vision began to blur and her head was swimming as she continued to fight against the man holding her. She barely registered a camera flash and the familiar sounds of machinery whirring as the Polaroid spit out a picture. She inhaled the noxious fumes of what she finally realized was chloroform one last time before Cuddy's world faded to black.

**[H] [H] [H]**

The soft thud of wood against wood was accompanied by the shuffle of socks against the floor as House emerged from the bathroom with a puff of steam. He ruffled his hair with the towel in free hand as he ambled towards the sounds of the television in the living room.

He knew he was going to get chewed out for not rewrapping his jaw and to be honest, he welcomed the distraction. He didn't want to deal with his memories or any other discussion he knew Cuddy would inevitably bring up now that he had nowhere to hide. At least some playful banner could postpone the inevitable.

However, as House rounded the corner, he was shocked to find that Cuddy was on the couch where he left her. A feeling of unease began to creep under his skin, but he quickly shrugged it off and ambled towards the kitchen.

"Lisa?" he called out as he entered an empty kitchen.

The sound of the mail slot opening and slamming shut on the front door immediately caught House's attention. He turned abruptly and walked towards the noise, fully expecting to find a letter that had accidentally wound up in a neighbor's mailbox instead of Cuddy's. However, the sight that greeted him caused his blood to freeze within his veins.

There on the floor was a Polaroid of Cuddy, unconscious in a very familiar man's arms. A very distinct handwriting graced the bottom of the picture and House nearly reeled with the fear that struck him as he comprehended the sentence.

_An eye for an eye._

Eric was back.

**[H] [H] [H]**

**A/N: **So, so, so sorry for the long delay between updates! I just haven't had the time to write with all of my studies getting in the way! In any event, I hope you enjoy this chapter. And yet again, sorry to leave you all in suspense. I'll update as soon as I can! oh yeah, and please REVIEW!!!

xoTrebleMaker


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House or any of these characters...but you already knew that, right?

**[H] [H] [H]**

A soft clatter cut through the professional chime of his cell phone as it rang softly throughout the small office. Wilson had thrown down his pen and glanced at the clock. There was no doubt in his mind as to who was calling him. With a sharp intake of breath and a grumble, he picked up the small device and flipped it open with his left hand.

"House, what could you possibly want? You left here," he chattered angrily as his eyes darted to the clock to verify that he had indeed read the time correctly, "less than 2 hours ago. Is Cuddy's really all that terrible?"

A heavy silence took hold of the line as Wilson's furious, unfocused gaze flared with frustration. Deep down, he knew something like this was going to happen. It _always_ happened like this when it came to House. Always.

"_An eye for an eye."_

Wilson rolled his eyes and slammed his right hand down on his desk in frustration. There was too much paperwork and too many appointments stacking up to deal with House's riddles right now.

"Seriously, House? We're gonna jump into riddles?"

"_An eye for an eye. He…He…"_

"Dammit, House! I don't have time for your immature little pranks! I'm so far behind on my paperwork because your sorry ass was in the hospital that I need every minute I can get!"

A heaviness filled the air as Wilson rubbed the side of his face with his free hand, immediately regretting the words that he couldn't take back. He knew it wasn't House's fault that he had been in the hospital anymore than it was his fault that he had been kidnapped in the first place. It was an unfair statement. However, the guilt Wilson was feeling only multiplied as he heard panting coming through the receiver.

"House. I shouldn't have said that."

"_He has her."_

"Wait, who? Cuddy?" asked Wilson, confusion mingling with his guilt.

"_Yes, Cuddy. He has Cuddy. I don't know how or when. She was gone when I got out of the shower. I don't know. I don't know what to do. I don't…"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there, killer. You're talking a mile a minute and so far all I got out of that is that Cuddy isn't home. Are you sure she didn't just go to the store? Did she leave you a note?"

"_She didn't leave me a damn note, because she didn't just leave! HE TOOK HER!"_

A note of dread began to fill Wilson's body as House spoke. The panic in his friend's voice was chilling. It was very much like House to get upset and to take it out on everyone around him. However, it was very unlike House to get upset and to let it be heard in his voice.

"…Who took her, House?" queried Wilson cautiously. A chill had settled in his very being that he was finding hard to shake. It was very clear that something was horribly wrong.

A clatter rang through the earpiece as Wilson recognized the sound of House's cane crashing somewhere in the distance. Wilson didn't know if it was frustration or panic that motivated the diagnostician's actions and he honestly didn't want to know.

"_Eric. Eric has Cuddy."_

**{H] [H] [H]**

House slid to the floor, clutching his phone to his ear in a desperate attempt to stay grounded in the real world. He could feel the air quickly entering and exiting his lungs, but there was little he could do to regulate it.

He felt numb and completely devoid of any sensation whatsoever. Fragments of thought squeezed there way through his conscious mind as he struggled to hold on to the conversation he was having with Wilson. He stared unblinkingly at his cane, now across the room. He hadn't meant to throw it, but he couldn't stop himself once the crushing reality hit him. He had said it out loud and suddenly it was much more real.

_Eric. Has. Her. HehasCuddy. HE HAS CUDDY!_

"_House?"_

He swallowed thickly and refused to remove his eyes from the cane laying across the room. Right now it was his only anchor to reality other than Wilson's voice and even that was beginning to fade as the panic began to sink in.

"W-what?"

"_I'm on my way there. Just…just don't hang up, alright?"_

He was shaking his head before he realized that he hadn't said anything.

"Call the police."

The silence caused him to wince and throw his head backwards into the wall. Didn't Wilson know how close he was to losing it right now? Did Wilson know that he couldn't handle any more emotional turmoil right this second? He was already so close to breaking. He couldn't handle this…

"_You called me first? House! What were you thinking?"_

"Just call the damn cops and call me back, alright?"

Before he knew what he was doing, House snapped his phone shut and placed his phone on the floor with forced control. His head was swimming and he was losing the fight to control his breathing as well as his suppressed memories. He clenched his fists, ignoring the stiffness of the freshly healed slices on his arm, and gazed up at the ceiling.

**[H] [H] [H]**

"_Where is she?"_ _cried Greg House as his eyes darted from his father to the open door and back with a note of fear. At best, his father was unpredictable and unruly. At worst? He didn't want to think about it._

_He said nothing, but instead chose to laugh loudly at the obvious concern and anxiety displayed on his son's face. He took a few steps forward as Greg instinctively shrank away. Something was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it._

"_Your little girlfriend ran off with someone better than you, Greg. Are you at all surprised?" asked his father as he squared his shoulders and stood at ease in the military sense._

_A strange mix of rage and self-loathing ran through Greg House's veins as he stared his father down. It wouldn't be the first time he had been stood up by a date, but it also wouldn't be the first time his father had lied to him either. He was torn between turning his back on his father to call Lucy and just slugging his father square in the jaw._

"_You're lying."_

_It was a bold statement and Greg knew it. However, he was four weeks away from graduating high school, packing up all of his belongings and escaping to college. He really didn't care what his father did to him at this point. He was so close to getting away._

"_Am I?"_

_The knot building in his stomach clenched uncomfortably as Greg continued to hold his father's intense gaze. His fists clenched involuntarily as the instinct to fight began to overtake the one to flee._

_Without warning, Greg leapt at his father and swung. A grunt lodged itself in his throat, however, as John House snagged his son's fist effortlessly from the air. Greg chanced a glance at his father's face and froze in shock as he saw the smug smirk beginning to form on his lips. He had planned for this to happen all along._

_Without warning, Greg felt his arm being twisted inward so that he couldn't move without dislodging his shoulder. However, the tension only increased as his father spun him around and pinned him, with his free arm around his neck, so that any movement would cause damage. Greg began to pant and shiver with the effort to hold still, further jostling his already sore shoulder._

"_What was that boy? I didn't hear you."_

_Greg closed his eyes and ground his teeth together to keep from saying anything else that he would later regret. The pressure on his wrist increased as his father's grip tightened around the joint. He swallowed thickly knowing that his about to be in serious pain._

"_I said, you're lying, _sir_," spat Greg with as much malice as the strong hold around his neck would allow._

_There was a moment as the words rang through the elder House's mind in which Greg thought he might escape this with minimal damage. However, with a sharp intake of breath, Greg was left reeling in agony as his father tightened his grip on his wrist and pulled._

_There was a yell followed by a thud as Greg was pushed to the floor. He sat on his knees, panting, and doing everything in his control to keep from moving what was now a dislocated shoulder._

_Heavy footsteps haunted the House residence as John grabbed his coat, made his way to the front door and slammed it shut in anger. It was only after hearing the roar of the car that Greg knew it was safe to move._

_Cradling the damaged limb in his good arm, he pulled himself awkwardly to his feet and made it to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall. Keeping the groan in his throat, House managed to pick up the receiver and dial Lucy's number._

"Hello?"

"_Lucy? Its…Its Greg."_

"Hey, I was just leaving to meet you. Are we still-"

"_I'm sorry, but I have to cancel tonight. I. Uh. I had a bit of an accident. Clumsy me."_

"Greg."

_Her tone said it all. She knew that it wasn't an accident and by the way she drew in a breath and let out a heavy sigh, Greg knew she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easy either._

"_I'm fine, okay?"_

"What'd you do this time?"

"_Dislocated shoulder."_

_The hiss that greeted his ears made him feel powerless. It was all too obvious that she knew he had gotten this injury from his father._

"Okay. Um, can I come pick you up?"

"_Yea. I'm…home alone."_

"I'll be there in ten, okay? Meet me outside."

"_Thank you."_

_There was a soft click as Lucy hung up the phone. Greg paused a moment, collecting the inner strength he needed to face Lucy. He moved slowly down the hall to his room, awkwardly grabbing his jean jacket while using his forearm to support the dislodged limb at the same time. Before he knew what was happening, he was sitting uncomfortably still in Lucy's car on the way to the Emergency Room for the third time this school year._

_He only had to deal with four more weeks of this. Just four more weeks…_

**[H] [H] [H]**

"House?"

Jumping with fright, House swatted at the hand on his shoulder and snapped his head forward to be greeted with the familiar chocolate brown eyes of his best friend. He broke the gaze quickly and stared over his friend's shoulder, noting the way his own breathing was still quick and erratic. He was still having a panic attack.

"I knocked, but you didn't answer."

House looked back at Wilson, "Oh."

"I called the police. They're already on their way to his apartment."

A dark chuckle escaped House's lips before he could stop himself. Weren't they supposed to be smarter than that? Weren't they supposed to have the bastard in their custody anyways? Why would he go back to the place where it all started?

"He won't be there. He's not that stupid. He went somewhere else. Somewhere safe that we won't be expecting."

The sound of shuffling met House's ears as he forced himself to breathe through his nose and he focused once again on the cane across the room. His periphery picked up the sight of his friend sitting next to him before he heard the voice much closer than it was before.

"I know, but they're doing all that they can right now."

"Well, its not enough."

A heavy sigh slipped from Wilson's mouth before he spoke, "House. We both know that there's nothing more they can do than retrace the places they've already checked until they get any new leads."

"New leads? _New leads?_ Are you kidding me!" began House with as much composure as was possible before he continued, "The next lead they're gonna get is Lisa Cuddy's mangled body being left on their doorstep if they don't do something now!"

House's stomach clenched uncomfortably as he said the words out loud. The last thing he wanted was for Cuddy to get hurt. It was his fault as it was that she was wrapped up in this situation at all. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to her - even if it only meant the tiniest of scratches.

Wilson glanced at House, searching for the inner strength he needed to apologize for his earlier outburst. It was at just the moment that the oncologist opened his mouth that the chorus to "Time After Time" blared its way from House's right hip.

With a jolt, House reached for his phone and stared in shock at the name on the caller ID.

Boss Lady.

"Cuddy."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Shivers wracked her body as she listened intently to the phone ringing in her ear. She had woken up moments ago, groggy and disoriented in a room that smelled familiar, yet was pitch black and impossible to identify. She wasn't sure why he had left her alone, but she was certain that he didn't know her phone had been in her pocket.

_C'mon, House. Pick up. I need you!_

"_Cuddy?"_

A relieved smile crossed her lips as she heard his gruff and disbelieving voice on the other end. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill as she sucked in a breath she hadn't meant to hold.

"House," she began in a frail tone that betrayed her fear, "I-I don't know where I am. But he's got me. Eric's got me and…"

"_Shhhh. I know. I know he has you. He left a little…calling card…for me to find. Are you alright?"_

The concern practically dripped from his voice, melting her heart a bit even as she assessed herself. Everything seemed to be in order. Her thoughts were still a bit sluggish, but otherwise, she was unharmed.

"Yea, I'm alright. I'm just…"

"_I know. Don't say it."_

Cuddy looked around nervously in an attempt to distract herself from the anxiety that was slowly building in her chest. With great caution not to make more noise than was necessary, she began to move about and was relieved to discover that she wasn't tied up or restricted in any way.

"I think he took me back to his place…"

"_Is it a studio apartment?"_

Cuddy looked around and noted immediately that there was no way the room she was in was an entire apartment. She was clearly in a bedroom and that was that.

"No. I'm in a bedroom. Its got to be a guys room. There's practically no decorations in here."

The chuckle that greeted her ears soothed her somewhat. If House could see humor in a time like this, then everything would be okay. She had to keep telling herself that. If she believed it, then it would be true.

"_You would make assumptions like that. Let me guess. Unmade bed and if you turn to the right and look down, there's a rug that barely matches anything else in the room."_

She heard the playful mocking in his voice, but decided to check anyways. Leaning over, Cuddy glanced down at the floor to her right and smiled lightly. Of course he was right.

"Yea, actually. How'd you know?"

She heard the pause in his voice and knew that somewhere in his sophisticated mind, the gears were whirring away wildly. Something was clicking in his brain.

"_I was joking. Is it red with white stripes?"_

She glanced down again and pulled her brows together in confusion before she spoke, "Yea. What are you watching me from a hidden camera or something?"

"_No. Now look at the little night table to your right. There should be a black digital clock on it with a drawer in the front. Still right?"_

The night stand was there, exactly as House described. Cuddy didn't know how he could possibly know any of this. This was all too eerie. Maybe she was having some kind of nightmare brought on by the TV program she caught before she dozed off.

"Yea, but how?"

"_Open the drawer and feel along the side closest to you."_

She fumbled for a moment in her attempt to be as quiet as possible, but the drawer grated harshly in its track as she pulled. She prayed the noise wouldn't attract the attention of the psycho somewhere in this place with her. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as her fingers grazed a familiar plastic object within the drawer.

"House, it's a-"

"_-pill bottle. I know. Cuddy, I know where you are…"_

"What? How could you possibly…"

"_Just keep me on the line, Wilson's already calling the police. We'll have you out of harm's way in no time, alright?"_

"House? How could you possibly know where I am?"

"_I know, because I live there."_

Cuddy snorted before clamping a hand over her mouth in complete disbelief. She had been in House's bed once before in college, but she had been drunk…and he had been with her too. The irony of her sitting in House's bed while he sat somewhere in her home was not lost on her.

"You're joking!"

"Glad to see someone's awake."

Fear gripped Cuddy unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She hadn't heard him enter the room and she was certain that he hadn't been there when she pulled the phone out of her pocket.

"Give me the phone."

**[H] [H] [H]**

"That's right, I said apartment 221B."

Wilson's voice traveled over to the diagnostician that had taken to pacing as he spoke to the Dean of Medicine. However, the shuffling that greeted his ears from his cellphone speaker confused him a bit.

"Cuddy?"

"_Wrong again, Dr. House."_

All the blood in House's face drained instantly as that familiar voice echoed within his head. He was there. In the same room. He was there with Cuddy and he, House, was not.

"Eric."

"_Ah. So you haven't forgotten me after all."_

"Nope," said House as he limped quickly over to Wilson pacing across the room.

"We need to go," mouthed House to his friend. He only received a puzzled look in response.

"_Let me tell you, House. I'm going to enjoy this."_

"Enjoy what exactly?"

He faced Wilson once again, pointing to himself then to Wilson before pretending to drive a car. He watched as Wilson nodded in comprehension and headed to the door just behind the diagnostician.

"_Mmmm. Wouldn't you like to know…"_

"Well, yes. That was why I asked in the first place."

A dark chuckled filled his ears as Wilson's car purred to life and jolted into motion. Apparently even the oncologist wanted to get to Cuddy desperately. He had to admit, the haste was greatly appreciated.

"_Well first I'm going to make her suffer, just like Sophie suffered…"_

There was a sharp noise that sounded like fabric being ripped followed by a sharp crack that could only be skin roughly hitting skin. A shriek assaulted House's ears and his blood froze at the sound.

"Leave her alone," he growled into the phone. He could feel the chill in his blood rapidly heating and becoming blind rage. He glanced out the window and noted that Wilson was already making incredibly good time back to his apartment. It was a ten minute drive following the speed limit. At this rate, they'd be there in five.

"_I don't think so, House. Just look at her. So beautiful…"_

The sound of a struggle rang through the phone's ear piece and a brutal mix of dread and fury pulsed through House in such a way that everything suddenly became much sharper than usual. As the adrenaline surged through his veins, House could do nothing more than listen and grimace. There was a muffled cry followed by the one word that tore at his heart worse than he knew possible.

"_HOUSE!"_

His heart wrenched at the sound of her voice; knowing that he was powerless to do anything to help her right now, ate at him worse than anything else he had ever experienced.

"I said, leave her alone." The amount of malice and hatred in his voice startled Wilson, who had slammed on the breaks as the light in front of them turned red. It was the last obstacle between them and House's front door.

"_Oh yea? Why, House? Is it because you love her? Because you want her for yourself?"_

With a sudden surge, Wilson's car burst forward as the light turned green. The amount of anger and jealousy in House's body swelled to such a point that he was completely speechless and helpless to do anything other than grip the phone in his trembling hands.

"I swear, if you touch one hair on her head, I'll…"

"_Oh. Its too late for that. Far too late."_

Squealing breaks barely registered in the diagnostician's ears as he slammed his cell phone shut and rushed out of the oncologist's car. His friend's cries to wait for the police were lost as he scrambled to the front door of his home and practically busted through the front door in his frenzy.

He took in the sight of his home and could hear the struggle coming from the inner sanctum of his bedroom even before he made it down the hallway.

Sirens registered somewhere in his head as he flung the door open to his bedroom. The sight nearly knocked him backwards. There, laying practically naked with bruises and welts on her body, was Cuddy with a crazed madman pinning her to the bed.

With a cry of complete rage, House launched himself at Eric.

**[H] [H] [H]**

**A/N: **Phew! What a ride this chapter was to write! So sorry it took me so long to get this out. This semester took a lot more out of me than I thought it would! Anyways, here's the next installment of FSoA. I hope you all like it! Please let me know what you think!

xoTrebleMaker


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **As per usual, i don't own House or any of the characters on the show. I do own this plot that seems to keep wandering farther and farther out of control...

**[H] [H] [H]**

The car door slammed shut, briefly cutting through the sound of the police sirens progressively getting louder as they approached their target. Everything came to him in a thick, soupy puddle of sound and sight as his adrenaline shifted into high gear. Seconds passed as though they were eons of time and the oncologist could only grapple with his desire to rescue his friends.

Wilson ran his hand through his hair as his indecision pulled at him from opposing sides. On one hand, he knew that House shouldn't be alone in there with a crazed madman, but on the other hand, he knew he should wait for the authorities to arrive.

More time slipped past as the oncologist's worry began to escalate. He couldn't help but run worst case scenarios through his mind - one's that ended with House and Cuddy in horrible physical and mental states. He stared into the open door of House's apartment, willing the action within to suddenly materialize in front of him. He wanted to be sure that everything inside wasn't nearly as destructive as he internally felt it was.

It wasn't long until car doors were slamming shut around him, voices were jockeying for his attention and the man was forced to focus on something other than what his worrisome disposition could only interpret as impending doom.

"Dr. Wilson," began the familiar voice of Officer Grady, "We arrived just as soon as we could, but I must admit I'm still a bit confused by your call."

Brows furrowed, Wilson turned to face the officer and began to speak, "Confused? How can you possibly be confused? Eric has obviously kidnap-"

"But that's just it! Eric is still in our custody!"

"No. No he can't be. He's inside," Wilson pointed emphatically at the open door to apartment 221B while staring into Officer Grady's hardened eyes.

"Dr. Wilson, I can assure you that Eric is safely behind bars in the county prison," replied the officer with reassuring undertones.

A harsh scream tore through the air; it was primal and fierce and sounded distinctly masculine to any that heard it. Without a moments hesitation, Wilson turned from the authorities, ignoring their orders to stop, and entered House's darkened home.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Fire. It rolled and tumbled through his muscles and scratched at his skin as he struggled to hold the man pinned beneath his good leg. Everything felt as though it were at some distance due to the immense amount of force he was using. However, there was only one thing rolling through his mind that kept him there, in a suspended state of anger and struggle.

_Cuddy._

House craned his neck, being sure to keep a good amount of attention on Eric as he looked for any signs of Cuddy around his room. He could just barely make out the top of her head on the opposite side of the bed as she sat with her back to him. He grimaced as he watched her shiver and tracked down the blur that comprised the fifteen seconds before he had tackled Eric.

_All I remember is that he had her pinned against _my_ bed in _my _house. _House squinted a bit as if trying to stir the memory into focus before his eyes. _…But Eric still had his clothes on…_

House glanced down and noted that Eric was indeed still clothed and he let out a sigh of relief. Although he knew that Cuddy was far from okay from this ordeal, he was glad that it didn't end up much worse.

The ground began to shift awkwardly beneath him and once again, House grappled with the man stuck beneath him as he struggled to free himself. Everything in his body screamed at him to kick and scratch and otherwise abuse the man in the same way he had been abused. However, House's anger began to ebb as he observed the man staring up at him with eyes holding malice, contempt and …jealousy?

"I have something that you want," said the diagnostician with confidence and the slight cock of his head that told the world that he had solved his puzzle.

Gruff laughter bubbled up from within Eric's throat as he paused his struggle with the doctor to speak.

"What could you possibly have that I would ever want, Dr. House? Your money? Your prestigious title?"

A smirk graced House's lips as Eric spoke. Although Eric's words were filled with mockery and complete disdain for everything associated with himself, House couldn't help but notice the way each syllable seemed more and more difficult for the young man to spit out. It wasn't from being held still or physical struggle, it was because House was getting dangerously close to finding the reason behind the entire ordeal.

House, however, was shaken from his reverie with a very distinct query.

"Tell me, House. Am I jealous of the guilt you have to live with for killing Sophie?"

A scoff jumped from his throat accompanied by a quick roll of his eyes and before House could stop himself, a snarky reply was already chasing its way from his tongue.

"Right," he began before he could stop himself, "I'm feeling oh so guilty for killing your girlfriend."

There was a yell of rage and a sickening thud as Eric's rage overtook his thought process and caused him to kick House hard in his crippled right leg. Yelling otherwise unintelligible curses, the diagnostician reeled and lost his hold on the crazed man in his home.

House panted, clutching his leg as it pulsed in time with his heart. He pursed his lips as the first shockwaves of the remaining muscle began to spasm uncontrollably. It wouldn't be long until he needed a Vicodin fix to help him get through this.

Footsteps echoed loudly around the room as Eric paced, caught between fury and grief once more. However, it was the heavy footsteps that rattled through the living room that pulled him from within his own head. Clearly someone had entered the apartment.

"I should've known you'd call the cops," Eric seethed as he scrambled about the room to retrieve the messenger bag he had been carrying.

A gruff laugh caught in House's throat, despite the pain that gnawed away at his maimed thigh like a puppy chewing on his favorite rawhide bone. He swallowed dryly and forced himself to speak.

"Like I'd le-ah! Let you have all the fun."

A particularly tense spasm had House rolling on his side and cursing into the floor. His ears began to ring as his blood pressure climbed and a thin sweat began to cover his forehead. He never heard the soft padding of bare feet as they snuck across the floor. He barely registered the gentle touch of a hand on his back, encouraging him to relax - encouraging a distraction from what his every day life had become.

As the rush of white noise began to ebb, House began to hear muffled words floating to him. Subconsciously, he began to obey the commands to help him conquer the tension in his leg.

"…out through the mouth."

With all the control he could muster, House slowly breathed in through his nose, held it for a moment and exhaled through his mouth. No matter how he tried, his exhale was more like a huge gush of air than it was the controlled release he needed to slow his heart rate. The whispering continued to become more distinct as House attempted to regulate his breathing.

"That's it, Greg. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Miniature shockwaves rippled through his mangled quad as the diagnostician forced himself to open his eyes and look up into the gaze of his angel. He was surprised to see a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips as they looked at each other. House sat up and eased his weight onto his left hand so as to take in his surroundings. His gaze, however, was brought back to Cuddy. He licked his lips, subconsciously desiring to kiss her, as she whispered quietly to him.

"He's in the bathroom. Just nod if you understand me, ok?"

House nodded, grateful to see that Cuddy seemed solid despite being kidnapped by a crazed assailant. He allowed his gaze to rove her body and smirked as he realized she had found one of his button up shirts and substituted it for her own. Despite being too large on her frame, it fit her incredibly way and made her that much more appealing.

"Are you in pain still?"

House massaged his throbbing leg and quickly shook his head no. He could tell by the way Cuddy was appraising him that they both knew he was lying. However, given the current situation, House knew it was more important to get out safe than it was for Cuddy to sneak some Vicodin from his nightstand.

"House? Cuddy?"

Both parties froze at the sound of their names as if even the slightest intakes of breath would shatter the silence and cause Eric to snap. At once, they both knew that it was Wilson; what they didn't know was how Eric would react to his presence.

Floor boards creaked into what House knew was his kitchen as Wilson inspected his home. An eerie silence settled over the apartment in the same way there is a calm before a violent storm.

"Warn him," House mouthed to Cuddy.

A puzzled expression crossed her features as she watched his mouth move which earned her an eye roll. She watched as House struggled with his desire to spout of one scathing remark or another before he mouthed the sentence once more.

"WARN HIM!"

Cuddy's face lit up with sudden comprehension then immediately collapsed in frustration and anger. How on earth was she supposed to warn Wilson when there was a crazed man just in the other room!

A few notes drifted haphazardly through the air and House made a rude gesture in Wilson's general direction. On any other day, House would have been peeved that anyone other than himself dare touch his precious piano. However, House found himself only concerned for his friend's safety and obvious careless behavior.

A few papers shuffled off in the distance and the noise of someone hastily searching for something echoed in the bathroom. Both House and Cuddy knew that whatever it was the Eric was searching for, it couldn't be good. They only hoped that Wilson got out before anything severe happened.

"House?"

It was a tentative cry at best and House knew that Wilson was worried. _Then again, _he thought to himself, _when isn't Wilson worried?_

The footsteps approached with a daunting heaviness that caused House to briefly hold his breath. A few twinges from his leg caused him to grunt slightly, earning a concerned look from Cuddy. He avoided her gaze and fought off the urge to massage the muscle to better make his stubborn rejection of pain that much more convincing.

A derisive chuckle came from the bathroom, followed by a heavy feeling settling deep in Cuddy's stomach. She could've sworn that she heard a faint metallic click coming from within the room adjoining House's bedroom. Nothing about it reassured her; in fact, it terrified her.

"Cuddy?"

Wilson's voice was cut short with the flurry of noise that assaulted every inch of House's apartment in a tornado of chaos. First there was the slamming of the bathroom door as it hit the wall followed by the shouting of surprised voices. More voices entered the melee, one of which Cuddy recognized as Officer Grady.

Cuddy motioned for House to sit still and be quiet before she inched her way toward the open door of House's bedroom to see what was going on. Light hit her face as she edged her way near the door jam and the sight she was greeted with completely through her off. There was a deafening roar as a gun was fired and Cuddy leapt to her feet and disappeared around the corner yelling.

Shaking his head to clear the ringing from his ear, House forced himself to his feet and tested his weight on his right leg. It shook from the effort, but it supported him none the less. House hobbled slowly, using the edge of the bed and then his dresser to support him as he slowly made his way across the room.

He blinked against the light that spilled into his apartment, fully expecting to see Eric dead on the floor. He stumbled forward - before deciding to lean against the wall to help himself down the hallway - as his eyes adjusted to the light. With his eyes dulled, House's ears became more acute.

"…37 year old male, bullet wound to the leg…"

The diagnostician raised a hand to shield his eyes and bounded forward as he took in the scene despite the angry protest of his leg. He struggled with his belt as he knelt beside the prone man on the floor who was trembling with the sudden release of endorphins into his system.

Practically ripping the belt from around his waist, House worked quickly to make a basic tourniquet to stave off the decent amount of blood that was dripping from the man's left thigh. Using the hole left by the bullet wound, House tore the fabric of the man's jeans away from the injury site and grimaced with what he found.

He looked to Cuddy and a serious tone entered his voice as he spoke, "He nicked the femoral artery."

Cuddy's free hand covered her mouth as she looked down at the man clutching her other hand as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. A sweat poured from his brow and he trembled with a chill that was more than the winter air being blown in through the front door.

"Wilson, can you hear me?" House spoke gruffly as he rode out the spasms in his agitated thigh once again.

He never noticed the police taking Eric out of his apartment in handcuffs.

**[H] [H] [H]**

**A/N: **As per request, I added a little drama for Wilson in this chapter. Sorry this chapter is so short, but I think its intense enough to sit on its own. Anyways, please let me know what you think! I love your feedback!

xoTrebleMaker


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **Guess what! I finally got the rights to House, MD! Oh wait... that was just a dream. *sigh* Still not mine. Please don't sue. Also, gratuitous amounts of Huddy in this installment. I feel like that should come with a warning label as well...

**[H] [H] [H]**

His office was dark except for one lamp that glowed cheerily just behind his head. He stared intently at the floor, tracing his shadow that stretched across the room and stopped just short of the glass wall that separated him from the hallway he walked every day. He took in a slow, deliberate breath as he watched the eerie glow of the intermittent lights that gave the hallway outside his sanctuary the glow of a haunted house. He knew it was Princeton-Plainsboro's attempt at seducing its sickly tenants into dreamland, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was foreshadowing a dark and eerie future for Wilson.

He had been sitting at his computer, idly playing with a bottle of Vicodin, since they had arrived at the hospital, which was about… He couldn't remember how long ago. He couldn't even remember how many pills he had downed to try to eliminate the burning spasm in his right thigh. With nervous hands, he picked up the familiar red and gray tennis ball and began tossing it in the air as his mind recounted the ambulance ride.

_Blood. It stained his hands, his shirt and even splotched his jeans from his attempts to keep his friend from exsanguinations. He cursed audibly, causing the pathetic-wannabe-doctors that lived in the back of the ambulance to turn and stare at him in shock. He could feel their judgmental stares as his bloodied fingers massaged the damaged muscle through his jeans and he suppressed the grunt building in his throat at the contact. It was probably just a bruise, but he'd need to get it looked at when they pulled into PPTH - just in case._

"_For the last time, we are not removing this belt from his leg," he spat as another spasm racked his thigh. No one that watched him picked up on the pain he felt. They hadn't noticed the white knuckle grip he had on the side of Wilson's gurney as he attempted to keep his pain in check._

"_If we don't take the tourniquet off, his leg will be damaged!"_

_The young EMT tried to rationalize with the doctor who shooting everyone in the vehicle daggers with his piercing blue gaze. However, he was new to Princeton-Plainsboro's medical team and was unaware that the man he was arguing with was just as stubborn as he was intelligent. He also had no comprehension of the amount of damage Dr. Gregory House could do with just his scathing sarcasm alone._

"_And removing the tourniquet even though this patient has a tear in his _femoral artery_," House gently applied pressure to the wound to suppress the small amount of blood that leaked from the wound despite the tourniquet as he spoke, "will save his life. He wouldn't bleed to death in…oh, I don't know, about 2 minutes? Yeah! That's a _great_ plan!"_

"_I don't want to die."_

_It was a faint plea, but House and everyone else in the ambulance had heard it as though someone had installed and used a PA system._

"_Shut up, you idiot. You're not going to die."_

_Wilson managed a weak smile, one that House returned to the best of his ability, before a hiss escaped the oncologist's lips as House removed his hand from the wound in an attempt to get a better look at it. Wilson's pant leg had long since been removed with a few quick snips of the medical shears._

"_How…how bad?"_

_The fear in his voice sent chills down House's spine. He had seen Wilson upset before. In fact, it was House that had been there with a six pack and some take out the day Wilson had finalized his divorce with wife number two; the younger doctor had been severely devastated as it had caught him completely off guard. This…_

_This was something entirely different than anything he had every heard before._

"_Bullet went straight through, but nicked the artery. Don't worry. You'll be fine."_

The rhythmic tick-tock of the clock somewhere above the door brought him back to his office; he ignored the metronome as best he could, but found his anxiety level rising with each and every pulse. It shouldn't be taking this long to repair a femoral artery. Sure, it was a difficult procedure that required a decent amount of finesse and maybe a good half hour in the blinding light of the operating room. Curiosity won out and with another few ticks, he looked at the time.

It had only been 10 minutes since he left Wilson in the ER.

"Damn." grumbled the diagnostician as he gently massaged the aftershocks of what had been a painful spasm in his damaged right leg. He wasn't sure that he had muttered the word due to his inability to accurately guess the time or if it was due to the shock of the sudden twinge.

His oversized tennis ball had been returned to his desk, but he couldn't in all honesty remember putting it back. The overbearing heaviness that he had been trying to ignore was beginning to poke and prod at him with more intensity, blocking out all other thoughts except for Wilson's fate.

He had been there as they prepped Wilson for surgery. He had watched as his friend's face seemed to pale in the few minutes they took to wheel him down the hall and into the first available ER. He hoped it had been from nerves and not from blood loss. He had already lost so much…

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy stood quietly in the observation deck, her arms crossed as she watched the distant figures of the operating team, They swarmed around Wilson's figure in the same way ants converge on a particularly tasty picnic. She pursed her lips and glanced at the screen to her right displaying nothing more than the reconstruction of Wilson's artery and the skilled hands of one of her top surgeons.

She caught a whiff of a familiar scent as her nose hovered over the collar of the button up shirt she wore. She smiled as she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing in the spicy scent she knew so well.

It wasn't until she glanced down at Wilson's surgery once again that a gasp caught in her throat. As she watched the surgeon and his team work, she staggered back eight years to the night that she had not only gone against one of her closest colleagues wishes, but also damned him to suffering for the rest of his life. She bit her lip and watched as the surgeon stitched up the skin on Wilson's leg, but Cuddy could only see the same surgeon stitching up an elongated surgical incision somewhere in her mind's eye.

She blinked as the surgeon gave her a thumb's up before turning his attention back to his staff. She released the breath she had been holding as relief washed over her and she carefully pulled her mind back to the present. She rubbed her arms, suddenly realizing how chilly the air seemed to be in the observation area. Another waft of spicy musk floated up to her nose and she glanced at her shirt. She was still dressed in House's favorite blue button up shirt.

With quick and sure footsteps, she left the OR and headed straight for her office. She prayed that she had a spare outfit stored away in the cabinet, or at least a belt that she could use to turn her obviously masculine attire into something more feminine and becoming.

She walked brusquely towards her office, grateful that the entire hospital was relatively quiet this evening with the exception of Brenda. It figured that Cuddy would run into her.

"Dr. Cuddy! Thank goodness," hailed the nurse as she rushed towards her boss before continuing, "I heard about Dr. Wilson! Is he alright?"

Cuddy paused to collect her thoughts before she spoke, "Yes, he's going to be fine. He just underwent surgery and should be waking up in recovery in no time."

Cuddy watched as the nurse smiled with relief while also managing to scrutinize her boss's appearance. The Dean of Medicine wasn't entirely sure she liked the way she was being taken in either.

"I'm so glad to hear that he'll be alright," began Brenda, "but Dr. Cuddy, are you alright? You look…well, you look like you've been through a lot today."

Cuddy half chuckled, half sighed. Brenda's observation was so much closer to the truth than she really wanted to admit. Cuddy swallowed and forced a smile to her lips as she realized just how close she had come to being raped. She was never more grateful that she had walked away from that without that kind of mental scarring.

"I'm fine, Brenda," Cuddy stated as reassuringly as she could.

"Are you sure? I mean, you _are_ wearing Dr. House's shirt," Brenda let her words trail off suggestively. It wasn't like the entire nursing staff hadn't already been gossiping about Cuddy and House. They gossiped about them on a daily basis. However, the pair seemed to be getting closer and closer lately; much more than just employer and employee that is.

"I'm _fine_, Brenda," Cuddy began, her agitation seeping into her words, "and I'm only wearing his shirt because I spilled something on mine."

"Oh! So it _is_ his shirt!"

Cuddy closed her eyes and sighed as she walked into the obvious trap. Of course she could have been wearing any man's shirt. She could've been called away from home because of an accident that sent her Head of Oncology into the OR at such a late hour and been pulled away from any man. Of course, Cuddy had stupidly given Brenda the best gossip she might possibly be able to spread around by morning and she wasn't even dating the man!

"Excuse me," Cuddy replied before turning on her heel and walking as quickly to her office as possible. She didn't need to dig the hole any deeper.

Cuddy could practically feel the smirk burning into her back as she shut her door and locked it. It was only as she turned to close the blinds that she saw Brenda quickly busying herself with papers that hadn't been important about thirty seconds ago.

Mentally cursing herself, Cuddy scampered around her office in search of clothes that were more appropriate for herself. However, she settled for a brown leather belt and a pair of brown flip flops that she had left in the bottom drawer of her desk. She began to fasten the belt around her waist as she approached the mirror next to the couch in her office. The sight of her reflection stilled her hands for a few minutes.

_God! No wonder Brenda asked if I was alright!_

The woman that looked back at Cuddy from the mirror was far from that of Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine. Dark circles stained the soft skin beneath her now bloodshot eyes. Her hair was disheveled, despite the gel that usually held her curls in place throughout the day. Everything about her reflection screamed of drama, turmoil and traumatic life events.

She broke eye contact with the mirror just long enough to cinch the belt around her waist. She glanced back up into the mirror, adjusting the shirt she wore until it was both an appropriate length and silhouette for herself before she turned towards her personal bathroom.

Splashing cool water on her face and neck was more refreshing than she thought. She took in a deep breath and used some of the paper towels from the dispenser to slowly blot away the water that lingered. She locked eyes with herself in the small, oblong mirror.

"You need to go talk to House," she said to herself, "And no more dancing around the issue. You need to actually _talk_ to him."

Cuddy left her office, fixing her strewn curls and ignoring the obvious stares from the nurse's station, and stepped into the elevator. Her mind was rehearsing the dialogue she knew she had to have with the man holding her heart. Its not that they didn't know how they felt about each other, but she was tired of waiting in limbo for him. They either could have a thing or they couldn't and never would. She needed to know.

The elevator doors opened silently in the nighttime hours. She traced the path to his office without ever stopping the rehearsal in her head. She could probably walk there completely blindfolded and still never stumble.

She was surprised to find the light on and the blinds open when she arrived. Usually, House made every attempt to disappear when he wanted to think, even if it was technically after hours and no one would be around. Maybe he had been expecting her. Maybe he had hoped she would come.

Cuddy stopped with her hand on the handle to his office and observed him quietly. She could tell that he was lost somewhere deep in his own thoughts, which wasn't unusual for House. However, it was unusual for him to be completely motionless as his thought process whirred away wildly. Usually he was idly playing with his cane, now leaning against his desk, or tossing the ridiculously sized tennis ball that sat perfectly still on top of his overstuffed inbox.

Slowly, his ice blue gaze came to rest on her steely blue stare. The mixture of emotions she found resting there scared her at first. She knew he was worried about Wilson, but there was a huge amount of guilt residing within his eyes and she hated it. None of this was his fault.

"Hey," she said softly as she entered his office. She only received a tentative nod and watched him throw back another pill with a sip of water.

"I thought you'd like to know that his surgery went well," she dangled it in front of him, hoping he'd take the bait and talk to her.

"Great," he stated dully while still clutching at his leg absent mindedly. He just wanted the ache to disappear. He wanted it to end.

Cuddy approached him slowly and sat on the edge of his desk, facing him. She traced the lines on his face and could practically read the worry and anxiety he carried there like an open book. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and caressed the side of his face. He jumped a bit at the contact, but leaned into it; he let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding.

"Lisa, I'm so sorry," he began in a tone so soft and sincere that Cuddy's heart nearly broke at the sound of it.

"For what? You have nothing to be sor-"

Cuddy's words were lost as House exploded with pent up frustration, "He could've been killed. _You_ could've been killed… and for what? All because I couldn't solve a case?"

Cuddy shrank back as she watched the bomb detonate before her very eyes. He hadn't meant to scare her, but he couldn't contain the pressure anymore. It had finally ignited his extremely short fuse and caused him to burst. He exploded because he was responsible. He exploded because Wilson had been hurt by a man bent on harming the diagnostician in anyway he could. He exploded because Cuddy had nearly been left mentally and emotionally scarred by the same lunatic.

"Not only do I have to live with knowing that I let a girl die, but I have to live with the fact that the crazed psycho she called 'boyfriend'," he emphasized the words with jabs from his pointer and middle fingers as he spoke, "was mad enough to go after not just me. Oh no! He had to go after you and then shoot Wilson, because I had somehow managed to live through everything!"

He cursed loudly and gripped his thigh as another painful spasm shot its way through his quad (or what was left of it). He heart ached to know that he had put his closest friends through so much in so little time. His temples pulsed angrily in time with his marred muscle and he gritted his teeth noting the way his jaw protested less than he expected it to. At least that was almost fully healed.

Cuddy rubbed gentle circles on his back to help relax him as she spoke, "You can't honestly blame yourself for the actions of some crazed lunatic."

He didn't acknowledge her. He just stared at the ground while gently massaging his leg. Her touch relaxed him more than he was willing to admit to himself. Everything about her soothed him more than he cared to admit. It was completely alarming yet so right.

"If I hadn't missed the diagnosis in the first place-"

"What diagnosis House?" she interrupted him with exasperation. He genuinely blamed himself.

"If I hadn't missed the bleed in her brain then maybe this wouldn't have happened!"

His thigh muscle cramped up uncomfortably, but he refused to let it show. Somehow, he deserved this pain. It made everything right.

"House, no one on your team saw the bleed. Hell, I don't even know how you found it after the fact! It was so tiny!"

"But it was there and I missed it."

"You can't save everyone, House. It just the harsh reality of the job. Besides, didn't you accurately diagnose the bizarre panic disorder she had?"

He thought for a moment and smirked in remembrance, "Hyperkulteremia. Yea. I figured that out at least, but-"

"But nothing! That's what she came in with. Symptoms pointing to that unknown illness. She exhibited no other symptoms until it was far too late!"

A weight lifted off his shoulders as her words rolled over him and he knew she was right. There was no way he would've caught anything past the panic disorder without the signs and symptoms associated with internal bleeding. Slowly, as he admitted to himself that he hadn't done anything wrong, the tension in his leg began to lessen. Not that it didn't hurt due to the most recent trauma, but it was much less intense now than before.

"Does your leg hurt?"

He looked at her then, his eyes filled with a cross between a "what do you think" and an "always" expression. As he looked at her, he realized just how much her gaze was disarming him. Her eyes were so warm and compassionate that it scared him. How could someone look at him with so much kindness and patience when he was as damaged as he was? It didn't make sense. She deserved so much better and he deserved so much less.

"Did you do something to it?" she asked more out of desire to break the awkward silence clinging to the room than out of curiosity. She had heard the blow and House's cursing as Eric had fled from the bedroom. She had watched him lose track of time and self as he wrangled with the leg that would always plague him.

"He kicked me," he said bluntly in typical House fashion.

"And I'll bet you didn't get it looked at," she responded while patting him on the back, "C'mon. Let me take a look."

He looked at her caught between his shock at her concern and his desire to crack a joke. The perverted five year old in him won out.

"Why, Cuddles. I didn't know you wanted to get me out of my clothes so bad!"

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and earned a slap to his arm. His theatrical "OW!" didn't fool either occupants of the room. Rolling his eyes, House stood up and dropped his pants. He glanced down, taking in the sight of the newest trauma and was not happy to see the angry bruise sitting beneath the tissue of his old scar. Even Cuddy grimaced.

"That looks really painful," she said pathetically.

"You have no idea," he replied as he pulled his pants back over his hips and secured them. He noted the blood stains and noted somewhere in the back of his head that he should pull something from the duffle bag hidden in the corner to change into before he left. These jeans were definitely trashed.

He looked up at Cuddy once again and took in her appearance. A smirk played at his lips when he realized the shirt-dress she was wearing was actually one of his shirts cinched in with one of her belts. The simplicity of it and the way it hugged her curves turned him on more than he expected. He shook the thought away, however, as he thought about how she had come to wear it.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively. He gazed down at her with eyes full of concern.

She nodded, pushing away any thoughts of the brief time she had been with Eric while she was conscious as she spoke, "I am thanks to you."

His brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at her.

"What the hell are you talking about? You wouldn't have been in that situation if it weren't for me. You wouldn't have been trapped there. You-"

"-were lucky to have you show up when you did," she interjected. The sincerity in her voice caught House off guard.

He looked away for a moment, caught between his guilt for her predicament and the weight of her words. When he glanced a look back, he was surprised by the tenderness shining through her gaze.

"Why do you want me?"

The bluntness of his question and the change of subject threw her off just as much as it failed to shock her. Leave it to House to provide answers before a question could even be formed.

"I honestly don't know."

He hung his head for a moment, taking in her response. It was a decent, honest answer and he wasn't altogether shocked. After all, he was drawn to her for exactly the same reason. He had absolutely no idea.

"You deserve so much better than me. I only end up hurting the ones I care about most."

He refused to meet her gaze after that statement. It was a weighty sentence that supplied more information than he had intended. He wouldn't have taken it back, of course, but he hadn't meant to give away his feelings so honestly.

"I know you do, House, but I want to be with you. Can we be a thing?"

Placing a hand on his cheek, she turned his face towards hers. She was pleasantly surprised when he reached up to grab the hand against his face and pulled it down slowly only to hold it gently within his grasp. His gaze was so uncertain - so full of fear. Was he that afraid of hurting her?

"I don't know," he answered her in earnest. It was exactly how he felt. As much as he wanted to be with her, he didn't know if he should. He didn't want to jade her, to pull her down to his level of disdain for life. She had so much more potential than he did. Didn't she see that?

"Shut up and kiss me, House," she said, her voice heavy with compassion and lust.

She chuckled softly as he hesitated for a moment, mere centimeters away from her lips. She wanted to taste his lips, to feel his warm, soft flesh against hers. She laced her arm gently around his neck to pull him to her. Her efforts were rewarded with a butterfly soft brush of his lips against her. Both parties felt the electricity course through their systems at the brief contact.

Slowly, shyly even, House increased the pressure against her mouth, struggling to keep the pent up emotions in check. He didn't want to scare her or push things so out of control that they took things too fast. He had already had her once and it was enough to look at her for the past 20 years without being able to have her again. He didn't want to rush it and ruin what it could be.

Cuddy cautiously nipped at his lip, trying both to restrain and give in to her passion at the same time. Any resolve they had was slowly melting away. It was House that broke the contact first.

"We shouldn't," he said simply and he watched as the hurt registered in Cuddy's gaze. She tried to pull away from him, but he wrapped one arm around her waist and gently cupped the side of her face in his hand when he realized what she must have thought.

"We shouldn't start this hear, because I have no intention of keeping things this restrained, if you catch my drift."

Cuddy looked at him both appalled and incredibly excited by his words. He hadn't rejected her. He wanted to try to be something. He wanted to be something more.

"Behave yourself, House, or I'll take on more clinic duty than you can finish in this lifetime."

"I really don't think that's possible, Cuddy."

They kissed once again, briefly before Cuddy took a step away from him and retrieved his cane. She played with it before handing it to him and spoke, "C'mon. We have an oncologist to go visit."

"Yea, and I'll probably have to teach him how to use one of these," he said as he held up his cane for a moment before walking, "I mean, who else will teach him how to do this."

With his tongue hanging out of his mouth in mock concentration, House tossed his cane in the air and held on to the straight end. Quick as lightening, he used the hook to lift up the bit of his shirt that covered any decency Cuddy had been trying to contain.

"GREGORY HOUSE!"

"Oops. My bad," he said as he scuttled his way out of his office only to be slapped on the arm by Cuddy mere moments later.

**[H] [H] [H]**

**A/N: **First and foremost, I want to thank everyone that has been reading and leaving me reviews! I do read all of your comments and I do the best I can to sneak in any requests that I can. So, thank you so much for your support and for all the kind words! Secondly, YAY HUDDY! That's really all...

Anyways, please continue to enjoy this story even as it wraps up. Thanks for sticking with me and please don't forget to hit the review button on your way out!

xoTrebleMaker


	17. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House. Still. Seriously.

**[H] [H] [H]**

_Two weeks later…_

"For the last time, House," griped Wilson as he limped slightly next to his best friend, "You do _not_ need to teach me how to use a cane! I'm doing just fine already!"

A smirk crossed House's features as he kept pace with the oncologist. He had been very worried about Wilson in the beginning of his whole ordeal. Granted, he hadn't stupidly popped out his stitches or strained himself needlessly, but the overwhelming guilt he felt towards his friend becoming entangled in the situation was only just beginning to dissipate as his friend began his normal routine.

"Doing just fine," House agreed before he continued, "using your left hand and everything."

A frustrated sigh escaped Wilson's lips, causing House to smirk as he stabbed the elevator button with his cane. It was an intentional jab and both men knew it. After all, when House had first started using his cane, it was Wilson that had scolded him for using the cane on the same side as his injury. Every doctor on the planet knew you were supposed to use canes and single crutches on the opposite side to counter balance the injury.

"Alright, so its not as easy to use it the right way," Wilson conceded as the elevator door opened and a familiar face greeted them.

"House! I've been calling your office for the past five minutes," declared Cuddy, clearly annoyed at finding her Head of Diagnostics gallivanting the halls.

"Well, obviously I wasn't there," he dead panned while maneuvering around his boss and into the elevator.

"Yea, I see that," she retorted trying to suppress the playful smirk that was pulling at her lips.

Wilson genuinely smiled as he too maneuvered past Cuddy and into the elevator. Although House and Cuddy hadn't made anything official between them, it was pretty obvious that they were in the beginning stages of a relationship. In fact, the nurses station couldn't help but talk about it every chance either of them were out of earshot.

Shocked to see Cuddy rejoining them in the elevator, Wilson cut through the awkward tension with a simple question.

"Are you joining us for lunch?"

All playfulness fell from Cuddy's visage as she glanced first at Wilson and then back to House.

"Sure, after House speaks to the officer's that are waiting for him in my office."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy threw open the door to her office, strutting in with a confident strut that put an extra sway into her hips. She threw a glance over her shoulder to House and smirked as she caught him taking in her movements with a hungry gaze. With an arched eyebrow, she turned and sat at her desk, leaving House to his own thoughts.

Officer Grady stood awkwardly near the small couch in her office. He was dressed in jeans and a nice button up shirt. It was a stark contrast to the dark uniform he had worn last time House had seen him. Frankly, House found it a bit unnerving.

The officer forced a smile to his face as he extended a hand in greeting, "Dr. House. So glad to see you up and about."

House took his hand and forced an equally fake smile to his face, "Me too. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Officer Grady paused, searching for the correct words before he began, "Dr. House, I'm here to inform you of a few things. Firstly, I want you to know that Eric Leere has been convicted of assault and attempted murder. He'll be in prison for life."

Eric hadn't contested his charges and even denied any need for a trial. After House had turned in the photographs that had shown up on his doorstep, as well as the medical records that coincided with the photographic evidence, Eric knew there was no way he would be a free man ever again.

Cuddy watched as House shifted anxiously. Naturally, House had pressed charges against the madman that had damaged him and Wilson. However, he had done his best to ignore the situation since Wilson had been up and out of bed. He hadn't completely closed himself off to the trauma that had happened, but he was still very hesitant to share the graphic details. Cuddy still wasn't entirely certain whether he was trying to spare her the anguish or himself.

"Good," replied the doctor, noticeably gripping his cane a bit tighter than necessary.

"I'm also here to tell you that his twin brother, Charles Leere, has been convicted of the same charges."

House's eyes snapped away from the pattern in the rug to stare directly into the officer's face. He wasn't quite sure he had heard him correctly.

"His twin? You're kidding, right?"

A chuckle erupted from Officer Grady's lips and he shifted a bit as he spoke, "No, Dr. House, I'm not."

"Wow," House said plainly, "I thought situations like this only happened in bad TV show cop dramas or in really sucky novels."

A wry smile settled over House's features as his eyes caught Cuddy's. She merely shook her head at him, understanding his need to deflect.

"I'm also here to tell you I'm leaving the force, Dr. House," stated the officer simply before continuing, "so, if you feel the need to piss off anymore patients and get yourself into a ridiculous hostage situation, you'll have to deal with my replacement. His name is Tritter. Detective Michael Tritter."

House suppressed a smirk at the bluntness with which Officer Grady had spoken. He liked this man more and more.

"Well, then I wish you luck on where ever you're headed," said House, "and I'll do my best to stay out of trouble. Scout's honor."

Cuddy stood at last at this statement, "Firstly, House, you were never a scout, and secondly," she stood and walked towards the officer to escort him out of her office, "You should never make promises you can't keep."

Officer Grady snorted out a chuckle as House rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, Cuddles," he said as gruff as possibly. He didn't want to admit she was right.

"Thank you, Officer Grady, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to visit us today," Cuddy said in what House had called the "professional-please-get-the-hell-out-of-my-office" tone of voice.

House glanced around her office as Cuddy exchanged brief pleasantries with the officer as he left. He was unaware that she was watching him until she spoke.

"You sure you don't want to talk about this?" she asked him, keeping her distance physically.

"Not yet, Lisa," he said as he turned to her. His voice was sincere, just as his eyes were solemn.

"Not on an empty stomach, either," he said as he began to limp away, "C'mon. Wilson's buying!"

Cuddy shook her head at him. She knew, in time, that he would tell her what had happened. She also knew that more of his past would be exposed as he relived his recent hell. Whenever he was ready, she would be there.

She waited a moment as Wilson and House loped off together towards the cafeteria. A gentle smile curved her lips and she wished that she had a camera with her. Wilson and House were mirror images of each other, right down to the pace and steps that fell in perfect sync.

"If only I had my camera," she mumbled to herself as she followed in their steps.

**[H] [H] [H]**

**A/N:** This is the end! Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me! I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did! Until next story...

xoTrebleMaker


End file.
